


Old Pews - DeBlanc and Fiore

by cuemusic



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Genesis - Freeform, M/M, angelship - Freeform, defiore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7765420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuemusic/pseuds/cuemusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some looks at the relationship of DeBlanc and Fiore. In general, this work follows a third person limited perspective from either DeBlanc or Fiore - and will add more context to scenes depicted on air, interspersed with flashbacks. Most chapters can stand alone. </p>
<p>Notes welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Moment and a Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment early in the season (Well, sort of. No dialogue directly from an episode. A scene explaining the bandage Fiore wears for a couple episodes)...followed by a flashback to much, much earlier. Fiore's perspective. (Approx. 3600 words...I added to it since its original tumblr post).
> 
> Not sure how this will fit in with the other chapters. For now, I'm putting it first. It is earliest.
> 
> Poem Credits to Eugene Fields (the poet who wrote "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod")

#### "Let's see that."

DeBlanc gestured to Fiore's bloodied hand.

“Why?” The question was genuine. Short of dying, Fiore had no idea what was to be done to such an injury. 

“We need to clean it,” DeBlanc began, now reaching toward the hand in question.

Fiore offered it, but was still perplexed. “Clean it?”

“Yeah.” DeBlanc knitted his brow and gently rotated the angel’s hand in his own. Using his ring finger, he dabbed at the center of the gooey pulp – an action which resulted in a sharp intake of breath from Fiore, who clenched his fist without intending to. DeBlanc nodded and frowned to himself as he stood up from the bed. Fiore watched him disappear into the bathroom.

“Clean it how?” He asked, beginning to stand up himself.

DeBlanc returned in time to tut in disapproval, and gently push Fiore into sitting again. He had a small, polyester bag with him.

“No, _no_ …you stay down.” Fiore obediently returned to his position on his back, watching quietly as DeBlanc sat on the bed’s edge and busied himself with sorting through the bag’s contents.

“Clean it how?” He repeated.

“With this.” DeBlanc set out a plastic bag of cotton balls and a small bottle labeled _Rubbing Alcohol_. Fiore knew of alcohol. But he did not know of its relation to tending to a wound.

DeBlanc unscrewed its lid, releasing a harsh burning to irritate Fiore’s nostrils. _Stronger than most._ Placing a cotton ball over the bottle’s mouth, DeBlanc quickly twisted his wrist – turning the two items downward and back upward again. Balancing the soaked cotton ball between his pinky and ring finger, he screwed the cap back onto the bottle, which he then set aside.

He gestured for Fiore to give him his hand again.

A moment later, holding the cotton ball above the wound, DeBlanc paused – guiltily looking aside.

“This’ll sting…sorry.”

Before he had a chance to fully process his words, Fiore’s hand was burning with yet another new and unique variety of pain. Somehow, a sudden noise had found its way out of Fiore's mouth. He quickly directed his mouth to close, and his vocal chords to stay still – but it was too late. He grimaced in frustration as DeBlanc finished dabbing fire into his flesh.

“Didn't want to make a noise.” Fiore explained, jaw tight, as DeBlanc prepared another cotton ball.

“I know, my dear.” DeBlanc replied softly, leaning in closer to move some stray hair away from the perimeter of damage gathered ‘round his left brow. “Ready?”

Fiore closed his eyes tight and nodded quickly – determined this time to not feel anything. But as the cotton ball seared cold razor blades into the pattern of his cuts, he could not help but clench up in reaction.

As the dabbing finished, Fiore realized his bandaged hand had been gripping DeBlanc’s wrist. This was especially confusing, as straining the hand caused Fiore additional pain – a pain he felt, but for some reason, did not mind. Reopening his fist, Fiore saw that DeBlanc was sort of smiling a bit.

Again DeBlanc shuffled through the bag, pulling out a box labeled _Bandages: Assorted Sizes_. A few moments later, he was peeling off a particularly large one for the side of Fiore's hand.

“Hold still.”

He watched DeBlanc carefully apply the material to his flesh – making sure none of its tack touched the actual wound. Once the blood was covered, he pressed the rest of the bandage down around the curves of Fiore's hand with what look like intense concentration.

DeBlanc opened and closed the hand, examining the way it absorbed its blood, and how pliable the edges of the bandage were. Satisfied, he placed the hand down gently onto the bed. This done, he then scooted up closer to where the bed met the wall – sitting cross-legged, he gestured for Fiore’s head to move up onto his knee.

Suitably repositioned, DeBlanc leaned in to examine Fiore's black eye and collection of cuts. He pulled a different box out from the bag. This box was too close for Fiore to read, but he didn’t mind.

“Hmm. These are shallow – don't think we need to go and cov’r-rup your whole head. Clear ones’ll do.”

Fiore nodded, though he didn't know at all what DeBlanc meant. What he did know was that the sensation of his other’s fingers delicately maneuvering the terrain of his forehead and hairline…tracing crevices of stress away into lulling smooth…left Fiore thoroughly enraptured. His soul was utterly captivated – yet absolutely at peace.  

Although Fiore had closed his eyes, he could tell DeBlanc had finished bandaging when he felt DeBlanc’s fingers begin to open and close idly in Fiore's hair, no longer dedicated to a precise task.

“Ah, _sleep_ , little pigeon, and fold your wings…

 _Little blue_ pigeon with mournful eyes;

Am I not singing? – _see_ , I am swinging –

 _Swinging_ the nest where _my darling_ lies.”

DeBlanc released the old verse quietly, almost just to himself. Almost. Fiore supposed a more apt description would be that DeBlanc sang at a level meant only for the two of them. Because somehow, he was sure that DeBlanc had intended for him to hear.

As his thoughts grew quiet, Fiore remembered an early stroll of theirs.

 _A stroll_ …that's what they had called it. After their first… _encounter_ , it quickly became the solution to their confusing inability to leave the other alone.

“What is it?” DeBlanc had asked him. Even though he most certainly _knew_ what ‘it’ was… even though he _knew_ Fiore _knew_ he knew. At the time, pretending not to know better was a staple to all their conversations. DeBlanc was much better at pretending than Fiore. 

“I…think that…maybe I don't want…to _not_ see you again.” Fiore explained, awkwardly.

It took a moment for the demon to detangle Fiore’s words, but once he had – his face lit up in the strangest way. DeBlanc’s eyes were smiling without reserve – but his actual smile was subdued – controlled. He chewed his bottom lip in thought for a second before he spoke…the whole time, he kept his gaze tied to Fiore’s.

“ _Well…_ ” He'd started, terribly slowly. “We _could_ end up in the same place, it isn’t _impossible_. And… _if_ we did…there’d surely be no harm going on…you know…a stroll, right?”

In retrospect, Fiore would consider DeBlanc’s suggestion to be incredibly brave. At the time, he was too relieved to consider much beyond the immense comfort he gained from knowing that he would see him again.

“A stroll?” Fiore paused, deciding to ignore all but the most innocent implications of such a meeting. He nodded. “You’re right…there wouldn’t be any harm in that. I can – I’ll find you, when you're back around again. Then we – together – can – er – _go for a stroll._ ” Fiore then swallowed, nodding in a bizarrely misplaced businesslike manner. As he turned to leave…he felt DeBlanc’s sparkling eyes watching him go.

At the time, Fiore hadn’t understood why saying the word _together_ had made his soul shiver.

That first rendezvous was special. DeBlanc had – in his typically quiet manner – gone extravagantly out of his way to create a place worth strolling through. Using an abandoned pocket of limbo tunneling – an old, semi-collapsed passageway between Heaven and Hell – DeBlanc exhausted all his resources composing a scene analogous to one he remembered from a travel of his to Earth.

As DeBlanc ushered him through – Fiore’s sense wonder took control of his system immediately…leaving him far too enthralled to give a second thought to how ludicrously illegal all of it was.

The area was wooded. Leaves lit emerald with false sunlight…a brook babbling as silver fish flitted beneath its surface…somehow, even breathing was new – the air there laden with honey suckle and pollen. Below him, grass glittered with dew…the green blades, decorated with glass pearls, seemed precious and delicate – and it took several moments of staring at his feet before Fiore understood he was allowed to tread through.

“You…made this?” Fiore crouched to examine a dandelion – he _knew_ it was a dandelion, though he was certain he had never seen or thought about one previously. The same could be said for most of plant and animal life that surrounded him…he was so peculiarly able to put names and identities to each fragment of creation – yet not knowledgeable enough to understand much beyond their definition. Holding his breath, he touched the softness of the dandelion’s seeds – which responded to his touch immediately – breaking apart into a hundred silver wisps – swirling up and away without hesitation into the breeze. Fiore watched them disappear, mesmerized.

DeBlanc smiled a strange smile – it was a little embarrassed, a little proud – like he wasn't sure he knew which he should be more of.

“I model dimensions, for…” DeBlanc shifted uncomfortably and nodded downward. “…ya know. I’ve gotten… _okay_ at it, but I never get to make anything nice.” He paused, eyes following his finger as he gently traced the veins of a low hanging leaf. DeBlanc sighed, refocusing on Fiore as he continued. “And even if I hid it in the tunnels, like this – I wouldn’t have anyone to…”

Fiore looked up at him, not out of understanding – but simply because he felt he should. Meeting Fiore’s eyes, self-awareness eclipsed DeBlanc’s features. He quickly turned away, developing a sudden interest in tree bark. “Anyway – no one would see it. So, you know. I thought – might as well.” His mannerisms and voice were steeped in uncharacteristic anxiety. Fiore, deciding DeBlanc didn’t want to be looked at, stood up – ready to further explore the chamber.

He carefully ducked below bough of tangled vibrance. Everything was so incredibly full of life – of color, texture, and smell. He slowly approached the brook, crouching again. Fiore never had seen Earth water before – and the idea of it had always fascinated him. Unconstrained – shapeless, formless, yet able to become so much. Water was the sustenance of creation…the sustenance of sustenance. On Earth, it existed as part of the very landscape.

And here it was…in front of him. He slowly dipped a hand beneath the surface. _It was soft._ When he removed his hand, he saw that its residue – though transparent – gleamed with stray light. Fiore grazed his hand over the flowers dotting the stream’s edge. They were soft too, but in a different way. His hand left bits of water…bits of gleam…on the petals as it passed over… _extraordinary._

“ _This_ …is this really what it's like on Earth?” Fiore asked quietly. He didn't look at DeBlanc when he asked. He couldn’t break his gaze away from watching a stray leaf float across the surface of the water…something he found to be so seamless, so natural, so beautiful.

“Some parts of it.” He answered. “Others parts are… _less_ nice. But I went someplace like this once. I…I tried to remember – of course, it isn't perfect – things fall apart too easily, and I couldn't get the sky right – but – ”

Fiore interrupted him, suddenly realizing DeBlanc had no idea what he was thinking.

“It's…it’s…” Fiore stood, and tried to sum up what was around him. “ _DeBlanc_ …it’s _…_ it’s so...” The angel’s eyes darted around, grasping. “… _very good_. I've never seen _anything_ like it before. I never could’ve expected… But _you_ – ah. This… _this_ is _wonderful_.” He looked at DeBlanc – who looked nothing short of star-struck. Fiore’s soul buzzed pleasantly. _Had he done that?_

The demon smiled a fraction, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other – before gesturing for the Angel to see something else.

They approached a thick bush of _blackberries_ …another creation Fiore found himself knowing without knowing. DeBlanc parted the bush in a way that shouldn’t have been possible – crumpling them to the sides, like curtains. Within was a deep, displaced darkness…a separate nook of creation.

“I made a little bit of nighttime, so you could see the lightning bugs…watch – ”

Fiore knelt and peered into the small hollow which held darkness in contradiction to the laws of nature. After a moment, he saw a small bulb of light surround the silhouette of a small beetle. It occurred again, and again. Floating, the creatures would glow –  creating perfect pulses of soft, yellow, light.

Fiore spoke with more breath than voice, startled by the heavenly nuance he was witnessing. “They… _oh_ – _look_ – how…how very…how _good_.”

DeBlanc nodded, and smiled – his expression now clearly favoring pride to shame. He gestured toward a set of stone benches.

“We can sit, if you'd like.”

Still lacking words, Fiore sat on the closest bench. DeBlanc sat on a separate bench, a little further away. Engulfed in wonder, it took Fiore a while to become cognizant of the distance. He looked to his side, expecting to see DeBlanc, when he realized.

“You…you don't have to sit over there. I mean, if you want – this one’s enough for both of us. You can be closer.”

As he stood to join him, Fiore could tell DeBlanc was trying to play down how much he appreciated the invitation. A beaming smile rested beneath the dreamy expression he was maintaining, and his easy step was just a _tad_ too rushed.

Together, the two of them watched the elements of creation dance with one another in perfect unity.

After some time spent doing this, DeBlanc released a verse – whispered it out into the air – where it seemed it belonged as much as the Dandelion seeds:

“I once knew all the birds that came,

            And nested in our orchard trees,

For every flower, I had a name –

            My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees;

I knew where thrived in yonder glen

            What plants would soothe a stone-bruised toe –

Oh, I was very learned then,

            But that was very long ago.”

Fiore's brow knitted as he heard the words. “What…what was that?”

DeBlanc’s expression snapped back to the reality around him, and – looking a bit surprised himself – he shrugged sheepishly in reply. “Ah – sorry. Just a poem, something I read in a book once. Up on Earth.” He frowned slightly, then chuckled. “Well, I suppose _down_ on Earth for you. Hah…

Fiore didn't respond. The words were still tumbling around in his head. He'd felt so peculiar, hearing the verse spill out and across a place like this. His brow remained furrowed while he considered this – the spell only broken when a butterfly landed on Fiore’s knee.

“Is there more?” He asked sharply, causing an unsuspecting DeBlanc to jump.

“Ah…sure, sure there is.” DeBlanc watched the Angel, confused. 

“I would like to hear some more, please.” Fiore said, realizing he may not have been clear before.

DeBlanc nodded slowly, then turned to look far away – at a horizon beyond the perimeter of what could be seen within the microcosm he'd created. His features relaxed as he spoke, and the words joined the wind as naturally as they had before.

“I knew the spot upon the hill –

            Where checkerberries could be found.

I knew the rushes near the mill –

            Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound!

I knew the wood – the very tree

            Where lived the poaching, saucy crow,

And all the woods and crows knew me –

            But that was very long ago.”

Silence again. DeBlanc was still looking off wistfully. Fiore wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. So instead he asked the first question that crossed his mind:

“What were you doing? When you were down on Earth?” DeBlanc’s wistfulness fizzled away as he turned to raise an eyebrow at Fiore, who – thinking he understood the root of the expression – quickly corrected himself. “Oh – I mean, _up_ on Earth, for you.” Fiore looked at DeBlanc earnestly, waiting for this correction to sink in and relieve any confusion.

DeBlanc cocked his head for a beat, and opened his mouth as if about to speak – but ultimately he just chuckled genuinely – shaking his head as he looked to the ground. “Hah. You're sweet.” He said, quietly.

Fiore looked from side to side, surprised by the word’s effect on him. Hurriedly, he tried to think of something nice he could say back.

“Erm – well, _you're_ short.” He said, conclusively. When DeBlanc looked up at him, his face was all crunched up in bewilderment and glazed slightly with offense, Fiore realized that wasn't necessarily a nice thing to be called. He stammered as he tried to elaborate on what he meant.

“Ah – what I mean is – you're smaller than most.”

DeBlanc looked off in a moment of consideration. When he turned back, his eyebrows were raised to a higher level of bewilderment – while any shade of offense he’d held was replaced by one of slight bemusement. Fiore tried again.

“No, no. As in your size – ”

DeBlanc’s smirk widened.

Fiore took a breath. “You're small, short.” DeBlanc began to laugh – but Fiore cut him off. “No no – listen. Because you're also... _you know…_ a…”

DeBlanc’s features calmed a bit, considering this new information. He spoke slowly, his tone not making secret of the fact he was humoring Fiore’s point. “So…I'm short, smaller than most – _small_ as in my size – and, I’m a demon. Is…that it?”

Fiore’s features converged in frustration…something which seemed to have a direct effect on the length of DeBlanc’s grin.

“Wait wait. I mean, _Yes_ – but, you – ” Fiore exhaled loudly. “ _You_ don't care. About any of the extra parts, the parts we _have to_ care about. You go and _talk_ to _any_ one without fear. Because you’re more than what we're told you are – ”

DeBlanc quickly lowered his eyes at these words, features drained and a little defeated. The angel pushed forward. “Listen! You're not what you're told you are either. You _know_ better. You learned better. If you were a tall, high-ranking Seraphim – ”

Fiore paused to acknowledge DeBlanc’s knee-jerk scowl and wretch of disgust. “Well, right. Besides being… _insufferable_ , you also wouldn't be so…impressive. You bein… _you_ , makes it different. So, ah, you know. I…I _like_ that you're short.” Fiore paused, briefly meeting DeBlanc’s waiting gaze. _A flood of warmth._ “I mean. _I like you._ All of you….spose that encompasses the height bit too, maybe should’ve gone with that instead – but then – thought it was important for you to know – prolly not something you already knew – wanted to – well, I don't know…”

Fiore's rambling died off as he caught sight DeBlanc, who was wearing a new expression. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was slightly agape…like the wind had been knocked out of him. Eventually, DeBlanc took a breath, regaining composure. “Well…huh. I – _Thank you_ , Fiore. That's… _you're_ …sweet.” He turned and looked out at the brook a distance in front of them. “I…I like sweet.”

More warmth filling his soul, Fiore stared up at the false sky. It was a different shade now – purplish, orange, and pink. _Sunset._

“You made it so the day changes?” He asked. DeBlanc nodded, still watching the water.

Fiore caught sight of a glowing pulse floating out near the honey suckles. “If…if you were going to have it become nighttime anyway, then why did you make a separate pocket of space for the glowing bugs?”

DeBlanc turned to him in confusion. “ _Glowin_ bugs? You mean lightning?”

Fiore frowned, crinkling up his brow, following a _glowing_ bug with his eyes. “They don’t seem like lightning.”

DeBlanc’s eyes wandered away, as if solving a problem. “So…you just…” His gaze snapped back to Fiore. “… _Changed_ it?”

Fiore’s face wound-up tightly for a second, considering the question. After several beats, he shrugged, features relaxing. “I like glowing better. ‘Glow’ works too.”

DeBlanc’s mouth hung open a bit – expression caught somewhere between amusement and shock. “I…I don’t think you can do that. Go an… _change it_ , like that.”

Fiore was unperturbed. “I like glowing better,” he repeated.

DeBlanc leaned back, stretching slightly. “ _Huh_. Well…I think I might like _glowing_ better too.”

Fiore nodded. Then he frowned. “You didn’t answer – why’d you make a separate bit for the glowing bugs, if you had night coming anyway?”

DeBlanc smiled slightly, looking up at the trees. “Didn't think you'd stay long enough for night. Thought maybe seeing the lightnin’ – the _glowin’_ – bugs might make ya want to stay longer.”

Fiore considered this for a moment. The air was still so sweet.

“I would have stayed anyway.” He announced, decisively.

A pause. Fiore looked toward DeBlanc without turning his head. He liked how he looked when he simply _was_ …countenance uncomplicated by awareness, DeBlanc seemed peaceful in a way – if tremendously tired. Witnessing this peace felt like a treasure, while witnessing the exhaustion…for reasons Fiore did not understand…acted on his soul like a fork in taffy – pulling and teasing it forward and toward the demon’s suffering. _A demon. His DeBlanc._

Radiance twinkled through the layers of his soul. Distracted, Fiore didn't notice immediately that DeBlanc’s demeanor had changed…that the demon was now furtively watching the angel furtively watch him.

_He still looked so tired._

“You can lay down, if you like.” Fiore offered, using a voice that reminded him of pouring cream and which he felt suited the nighttime.

DeBlanc raised an eyebrow – and spoke slowly. “On…the _other_ bench?”

Fiore shook his head, gesturing across his lap. “You can fit here – I don't mind sitting up right, if you don't mind bending your legs.”

DeBlanc’s face was frozen for a moment. Fiore wasn’t sure what he was thinking.

When DeBlanc replied, his voice seemed trapped in a jar.

“I don’t mind.”

Fiore nodded, and moved to the far left of the bench. DeBlanc, carefully, laid the back of his head on top of Fiore’s legs. Measuring the contact, Fiore could tell DeBlanc was holding back some of his weight, afraid of lying down completely.

“It’s alright. You can lay all the way. Won't sleep, otherwise.” Fiore half-whispered, hoping that his tone made it… _easier…_ for DeBlanc. “It's alright.”

“… _okay_.” The demon spoke softly, before yielding his head’s weight to the angel. It was even darker now. A few moments passed.

“How does it end?” Fiore murmured dreamily, watching artificial stars reflect in an artificial pond.

DeBlanc didn't need clarification. His tone was low, and poignant – matching the night perfectly.

“And pining for the joys of youth,

            I tread the old familiar spot

Only to learn this solemn truth:

            I have forgotten, am forgot.

Yet here's this youngster at my knee

            Knows all the things I used to know;

To think I once was wise as he! –

            But that was very long ago.”

He sighed and yawned, beginning the last verse. Their souls both breathed in time.

“I know it's folly to complain

            Of whatsoever the fates decree,

Yet, were not wishes all in vain,

            I tell you what my wish should be:

I'd wish to be a boy again,

            Back with the friends I used to know.

For I was, oh, so happy then –

            But that was very long ago.”

 Fiore hummed in appreciation. “It's almost like a prayer.” He whispered, speaking to the treetops. He felt DeBlanc’s head nod in his lap a few seconds later.

 “I suppose it is.”

 Back in the present, Fiore turned suddenly to look up at DeBlanc.

 “Hmm?” DeBlanc asked, Fiore’s movement rousing him from sleep.

 “ _Thank_ _you_.” Fiore spoke with as much sincerity as he could convey in the darkness. 

 Sleepily, eyes still closed, DeBlanc smiled. He drummed his fingers in Fiore's hair a couple times, before lovingly flattening it out again.

"You're sweet.” He sighed.

And then Fiore drifted off, thinking of bugs that glowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the Blind Torpedo...a suggestion toward less angst led to this. Went farther with it than I expected...but there you go.


	2. Overtop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiore and DeBlanc get ready for rain. Fiore's perspective, approx. 800 words.

####  _Rain._

They hadn’t dealt with that before. Fiore dug out the raincoats from the bottom of the trunk while DeBlanc laid on top of the bed, looking at the ceiling, massaging his head. He’d been doing that a lot since they’d left the church.

Fiore didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t know what he could do. So he focused on preparing their raincoats. While pulling out them out, he saw the rain covers they’d gotten when they bought their hats. The corner of his mouth twitched upward a fraction.

DeBlanc had been skeptical of the purchase. “ _That’s_ …wait, what is that.”

“For rain.” Fiore held two packages up to DeBlanc for inspection.

DeBlanc squinted to read the print, then widened his eyes and gestured to the two hats already in their cart.

“We put them... ov'rtop?”

Fiore’s response was a withering look. This was their third time area-appropriate shopping. With each round, Fiore understood humans less and less.

DeBlanc continued to look at the package. “So…all that brim…an it's not waterproof?”

Fiore’s response was little more than a brooding expression, followed by a shrug. After a beat longer examining the hat covers, DeBlanc’s eyes wandered to Fiore’s grimace. Grinning a fraction, he tossed the packages in with the other items.

“Ah _come now_.” DeBlanc started, intentionally bumping his shoulder into Fiore’s arm. “It’s sort of like, _you know_ – a holiday…”

Fiore’s throat created a low, nondescript groan – his mouth, however, did not open. He didn't understand why. DeBlanc bumped into him again.

“Aye. How bout we buy this lot up, then go and look at books next? We can get stuff here we can't up there.”

Fiore nodded once, quickly – his grimace melting away into an expression wariness. DeBlanc nodded too, and walked forward with a level of intent Fiore found incredibly comforting.

Back in the present, Fiore’s voice acted on an idea before his mind had finished fully examining it.

“We could buy books, along the way.” He said to the room.

DeBlanc stopped massaging his forehead. “What?" 

Fiore’s voice, usually kept in check by DeBlanc, continued to rattle on untethered.

“Books…on the way, you know. For the trip. Prolly should buy them _before_ the, er, tickets. Might not have much left after…”

DeBlanc closed his eyes and held a fist to his forehead as he spoke to the ceiling. “You finished all the comics? Fiore I told you to _save_ them…”

Fiore's mind was struck numb – this was often the case when he was misunderstood before he could understand himself. He had not finished working out what he'd meant – but he knew what he had _not_ meant. For reasons Fiore also did not understand, these situations were _most_ frustrating when they occurred in conversation with DeBlanc.

As the numbness in his mind peaked, Fiore's soul seemed to expand beyond his physical form – pushing the bounds of corporeal limitation into a static-ky flicker.

The lights throughout their room dimmed and re-lit with a strange crackle.

DeBlanc, who must have sensed the disruption, removed his fist from his head and briefly scanned the room before settling his gaze on Fiore's frozen frustration.

He sat up, sighing deeply before he lowered his gaze, and began speaking to the comforter. “It's all right. Take your time. I'm listenin'.”

Fiore's soul began to settle, tempered by the dark-eyed tranquility of DeBlanc’s patience. He took a breath. And then another. And then another. His body did not seem happy with this series of decisions.

DeBlanc, looking up again, smiled slightly. “ _Ah_ m’darling – you’ve got to _release_ after. Won't help if you do em all in a row.”

Fiore directed his body to release all the breaths at once – immediately feeling better having done so. When he looked at DeBlanc, he smiled a little back at him. DeBlanc’s smile widened for a beat in response – but then disappeared completely, a storm of brood sinking his brow again.

DeBlanc laid back down. “Shouldn't be doing this Fiore. If somethin' goes wrong – Look we just can't know if it's worth – _I_ dunno if it’s…an' you _can't_ know, so…”

As he trailed off, a strange lump formed in Fiore's throat. He didn't understand DeBlanc’s insinuation. Or he didn't want to. _Doesn't matter._ He didn't want to understand whether or not he wanted to understand.

Voice strung tight, Fiore spoke through gritted teeth as he turned toward the trunk again.

“Haven't finished the comics.”

DeBlanc didn't respond right away. Besides his breathing getting deeper, Fiore couldn't tell if DeBlanc had heard him at all.

After several moments of silence – a time Fiore spent fiddling with the hat cover packages – DeBlanc finally spoke, rising from the bed.

“We can open those on the way. Come on, let's go.” Pausing, he added gently, “We… _I_ …don't need anything to read. If you're fine, I'll be fine.”

Fiore swallowed; then nodded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the odd ordering...I'm writing in two directions, but I'd figure I'd post this in the meanwhile.


	3. Travel Agent Lucinda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DeBlanc and Fiore buy tickets for a trip. Fiore's perspective, Approx. 1800 words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiore's perspective of the Distant Vistas scene - apologies for going out of order, I think I may have written the middle chapters first.

#### The angel remained acutely aware of his other’s increasing agitation...

...As they traveled to and arrived at the Distant Vistas agency.

By the time they were invited to sit, DeBlanc’s eyes seemed only able to flit from side to side in discomfort; or sustain wary, melancholic stares into a void only he could see.

The travel agent was an adelphi, though Fiore supposed only he could know that. As far as the physical world was concerned, the agent was a typical woman. Spotting subtle differences in energies was an ability Fiore honed in a concentrated and deliberate effort, and was quite rare for an angel not belonging to the first order to possess. Most law-abiding adelphi had no stake in recognizing and distinguishing between adelphi, seraphim and demons on earth.

Not that many Adelphi knew this. Most of what the Seraph whispered to untraveled Adelphi concerned dark rumors about the physical forms of demons…forms allegedly nearly identical to the forms of mortals. Within celestial circles, this lack of distinction was often cited as evidence of demons’ innate bestial nature and overall subpar level of consciousness. In actuality however, no one was particularly good at spotting anyone else. Most angels were shocked upon their first visit to Earth – overwhelmed by the maddening complexity of all energies when translated into physical forms.

Of course the biggest secret was that there wasn't too much separating angelic and demonic celestial forms from each other either. Again though, only Fiore really knew that…knew it a little _too_ well, in fact. _'Course DeBlanc_ should _know…by now._ Fiore sighed impatiently.

Despite Fiore's insistence that the grand majority of angels couldn't tell a demon from one of their own, DeBlanc was always convinced beyond reason that they'd see him for what he truly was. It was for this reason that DeBlanc refused to speak first whenever they came in contact with another celestial being traversing the physical realm. In what Fiore considered obscene irrationality, DeBlanc was similarly convinced that the invisible glow of Fiore’s “angelic” aura was the only thing standing between being recognized and staying hidden.

And so the demon, because he was a demon, fidgeted quietly and awkwardly – eying the room’s decorations as Fiore took the lead.

"We want to take a trip..." He began.

“ _Sit, sit…_ ” The agent’s mannerisms were steeped in charm. As she continued, Fiore got the sense that he'd very much enjoy buying a trip from her – under different circumstances.

“I just got a tip on a wonderful package rate to Nova Scotia. It's Lobster Carnival.” The woman beamed at them, opening and closing her hands in imitation of claws. Fiore barely noticed this though, as he resolutely pushed fate forward.

“Somewhere _further south_ …” Fiore elongated the vowel sounds as he spoke, pointedly taking care to place pauses between the key words – exactly like he’d practiced.

But the agent didn’t pick up on the euphemism.

“How about Tasmania? _Mmm_ – sunsets on Cradle Mountain, and I hear Rod Stewart is headlining the Festival of Voices this year – ”

“ _Much_ further south…” This time, Fiore placed emphasis on the qualifying word, which he was fairly certain he hadn't included before. DeBlanc had said the agent would probably understand the request right away, and so Fiore was especially proud that he'd thought of a backup response.

The effort, it turned out, was unnecessary. DeBlanc cut the façade short, before the agent could respond one way or another.

“We want to go to Hell.”

Fiore suspected ‘Cradle Mountain’ had been one dream too many. DeBlanc didn't mind speaking in falsehoods, but he hated pretending. Especially when pretending served a lie too sweet to ever become reality.

 _Sunsets on Cradle Mountain_ …not likely. Not for them. DeBlanc couldn't even let strangers cast his and Fiore’s life in an idyllic light. Not even for a moment.

The room’s mood had changed. The agent’s smile had deflated into a thin sickle, and her gaze had sunk behind a dark gauze of distrust – as though she was able to expand the reach of her carefully applied eye-shadowing at will. Looking at each of them in turn, she spoke calmly – though the honey in her voice was all but depleted.

“What makes you think _I_ could get you there.”

Ever since DeBlanc had explained the use of emphasis in worldly speech, Fiore was noticing all sorts of things people hid within seemingly ordinary statements. In this instance, he realized the adelphi wasn't asking a question based in any _legitimate_ curiosity – she was digging for information. And Fiore wasn't having any of it. He spoke quickly.

“Maybe we're wrong, maybe you can't.” The two began to stand without hesitation, impressively in-sync – so as to ensure the agent saw them as two piles of unadulterated bounty, about to escape her grasp forever.

“Wait – ” Her tone slipped in desperation – the new edge exposing a committal to serving her bottomline, no questions asked.

The two paused mid-stand, as Fiore replied.

“Can you help us, or not.”

The woman pursed her lips in semi-annoyance. Her silence was answer enough. The agent warily rose from her desk while the angel and demon resettled in their seats – all parties seeming to accept the course of inevitability with equally strained trepidation.

DeBlanc fidgeted and squeezed the arms of his chair. He turned to Fiore as the agent left their line of vision to throw a blanket over the bird cage behind them.

“Is this _really_ our only option?” His voice was one part reluctance, two parts exasperation. Fiore dipped his chin in a single slow nod, surveying DeBlanc’s expression without turning his head.

The demon was incredulous. Despite being here, traveling here, sitting here – he still could not process what was occurring. Upon accepting the silent response, DeBlanc rolled his frame away from Fiore, expression miserable as he returned to shifting pointlessly in his seat.

“You have papers?” The agent asked coolly, resettling at her desk.

Fiore appreciated the way the agent’s voice rose a smidge in pitch on the statement’s final word. Although there was no conceivable reason for her to expect that the two were traveling legally, it was nice of her to pretend otherwise. As Fiore stared ahead expressionlessly, pondering this, he felt DeBlanc avert his eyes and shake his head – as though sparing himself from the agent’s judgement.

“Unregistered,” the agent pronounced. “That’s extra.”

The clicking of the keyboard continued, Fiore providing answers unthinkingly whenever the agent paused. _Departure date?_ Today. _Names..?_ DeBlanc and Fiore.

Only on the third question did Fiore hesitate. Beside him, DeBlanc had covered his face with his hand, the way he did when struck by a corporeal headache.

“Occupation?” After a beat of silence, the agent turned to look appraisingly at the two in front of her. “You're going to Hell. Someone may ask…”

 _That was true, someone_ could _ask._ On earth, they needed to work for the government – as it lent them authority. In Hell though, they wouldn’t need anything like that. It was a sort of fun question, when Fiore thought about it that way – on the ticket, they could be anything they wanted. _In which case, I pick…_

“Serial Killer.”

“Architect.”

DeBlanc had answered a half-beat earlier than Fiore, uncovering his face to reveal an expression of muted frustration as he did so. It took a moment for Deblanc's occupation to register with Fiore. _Serial killer?_ DeBlanc clearly did not share Fiore’s lighthearted interpretation of the question. _Did that even count as an occupation?_ Apparently so. The agent recorded their responses without contradiction.

Fiore had always liked the idea of an architect. They carried the burden of creation’s start, sung the art behind the project’s origin. Yet they also produced a rubric for an ideal to come to fruition. Provided the math necessary for the construction of new reality.

“Payment in advance.”

DeBlanc carelessly tossed his wallet forward, while Fiore followed suit. Although he seemed more controlled and deliberate, Fiore actually acted thoughtlessly. He was still thinking about his far superior choice of pseudo-occupation.

Architects could plan the most magnificent creations. They were artists armed with the ability to sew their creation into the greater creation around them. _Like DeBlanc, when he use to make things…_ Fiore was brought out of his reverie by the travel agent’s new, semi-taunting tone.

“Not sure this is gonna cut it.” The Adelphi was making a face of false sympathy. Fiore didn't understand why. As was his custom when confused, Fiore waited for something to happen.

DeBlanc obliged.

“What else do you want.” The resignation in DeBlanc’s voice flattened out the notes of curiosity which usually accompanied questions.

The Adelphi dropped her sarcastic pretense. She spoke bluntly and directly to DeBlanc.

“The big one. With me. In back for twenty minutes.” The agent nodded twice while speaking – once toward Fiore, and once toward the room behind her.

 _Oh._ Fiore understood. _She wanted to_ …well. What did that matter really? _Would probably be interesting, at least. Twenty minutes isn't very long._

“If that's what it takes.” With a half-glance at a stonily silent DeBlanc, Fiore stood up. The agent began to rise too – when Fiore experienced something strange.

“He’s not going anywhere.” DeBlanc spoke with dangerous resolve. Keeping his eyes fixed resentfully on the Adelphi, DeBlanc had bent forward and reached upward – firmly grasping the crook of Fiore’s right elbow.

And Fiore was suddenly frozen. Eyes wide, he opened his mouth and released the slightest sound. But whatever he had meant to say was beyond him now. He glanced at DeBlanc’s hand on his arm, and the sight sent the pressure of his other’s downward tug rushing through his system even more potently than before. Fiore’s thoughts were muted by the warmth’s radiating impact. Staring straight ahead again, the angel abruptly returned to his chair.

Beyond releasing his arm, DeBlanc did not respond to Fiore’s resettlement. He was still shrewdly watching the agent, who spoke with a smirk.

“What if I report you?”

DeBlanc smiled this time.

“Then we’ll report you.”

The Adelphi glared at DeBlanc for a half-second longer, before letting her index finger raise and fall with a flourish onto her keyboard. A dramatic and finalizing _clack_ – then the printer filled the room with a buzzing that was too low to be loud, yet too incessant to be quiet.

Fiore had felt oddly transported from the scene as it played out. Still savoring the afterglow of DeBlanc’s touch, Fiore stole glances of DeBlanc’s profile – awed by its existence so close to his own. Right there. _His other was right there._

Fiore barely noticed the minutes which followed. He was someplace else, reflecting on the quietest of his most treasured moments – and wishing he could get DeBlanc to reflect on them too. _It would help…if he remembered more of_ this _and_ _less of_ that. More of what they wanted back, less of whatever it was he had left behind.

 _DeBlanc and Fiore._ He liked saying them after one another. It was pleasant to imagine them written together. Fiore didn't understand why.

The pair returned to the motel without incident, but in silence.

 


	4. DeBlanc the Gargoyle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This sort of sets the mood - but it is not really the best out of all the chapters. Please skip if you aren't feeling it - it is not essential.  
> Fiore's perspective, approx. 1300 words

#### DeBlanc was still on the edge of the bed…

...looking despondently at their tickets to Hell.

He had been like that for the past half hour. While Fiore packed and cleaned, DeBlanc had silently taken up the post of a Depressed-Ticket-Holding-Gargoyle, as though that too was a necessary task. Fiore paused, and tilted his head, drawing a comparison. _Like the statue of a suited dog that stood upright outside that loud, alcohol restaurant – it was for holding coins people might feel inclined to leave._ Was that right? Maybe he'd tell DeBlanc later…he would say something amusing…though likely unhelpful, Fiore knew he'd at least enjoy it.

Normally, DeBlanc would be helping, and they would not be in silence. Musing out loud, DeBlanc liked to float different thoughts Fiore’s way, and Fiore would respond with his own carefully pronounced words. Sort of like practicing.

As it was, a lot had happened, and Fiore was all right doing the packing.

Going to Hell was unpleasant enough – but Fiore knew it was more than just that. This latest… _tantrum_ …had affected DeBlanc more than the others.

DeBlanc had been preoccupied with silencing Fiore’s skepticism ever since the the song failed to rouse Genesis. Fiore supposed his impatience had not been subtle – but surely at least his doubt was well-founded. DeBlanc insisted he could understand it, that it cared about them, that it was in tune with DeBlanc’s considerable effort to comfort it. Fiore had never been that generous to their charge. As far as he could tell, Genesis was just a problem. A sin incarnate. Although, like his connection to DeBlanc, Fiore’s own dedicated concern for Genesis was undeniably present…whether he wanted it there or not.

Fiore stood up again. Regardless of anything he or DeBlanc _felt_ – the facts were the facts. Genesis had defied them. Destroyed its way home. Chose _a person_ over his…over _its_...custodians.

 _Custodians._ Frustration blossomed forth from the word, and Fiore’s face scowled without him directing it to. This caused more frustration, making it all the more difficult to calm his features. He didn't understand these sudden, uncontrolled plunges into emotion. He didn't know why that word made him upset.

Fiore took a breath and tried to dissect the plunge.

 _“Custodians._ ” In his mind, it was DeBlanc saying the word…

 _“No, no. We’re its custodians.”_ Ah, _then_. Here. _When DeBlanc told the Preacher._ Fiore set his jaw, remembering.

DeBlanc had spoken with confidence – and enviable enunciation – like he always did. In his tone however, was a note of barely detectable defeat. To Fiore, it was like watching a beaten general forced by the victors to speak about a humiliating loss on demand – disallowed from showing any trace of self-respect to his former role while doing so.

Without deliberation, DeBlanc told the human he was nothing more than a _custodian_.

An utter concession to his “agreed upon” role. Complete surrender to the status quo. _Their_ status quo… _not something one would expect of a_ …well. Fiore was never comfortable with what all this had done to DeBlanc. Although privately, things were different – publicly, DeBlanc allowed himself to be degraded and chastised…all for the chance to stay in Heaven with Fiore and Genesis.

And even though _DeBlanc was…_ and _they had_ …it didn't _seem_ right, treating DeBlanc like this. Fiore rubbed his temple.

 _“We take care of it.”_ He had said. It was his little way of attempting to remind DeBlanc that…that he wasn't alone, feeling like more than a _custodian_ …Fiore understood. To an extent. Remembering something, Fiore ducked back into the bathroom, grabbing the shaving kit from below the sink. The radio continued, the ecclesiastical Texan accent obscuring the half-hearted whining in the bath tub. Fiore paused to listen.

“Now ladies and gen’lmen – prancin’ ‘roun in your mall-fancy dressin’s – it's time ya’ll hear His message for you.” The speaker cleared his throat, and there was a slight rustle of paper. Fiore remained still as the speaker continued.

“ _Love_ is as _strong_ as death, an’ _jealousy_ is as _fierce_ as the grave. Its flashes ar’ flashes of _fie-err_ , the same ol’ flame of the LORD heself.”

The listening audience bursts into applause, and Fiore begins to stand – but then pauses mid-action as the sermon continues.

“Now, now. Quit your holla’rin’. Righ’. Anyhow. Now, love, when it’s real, is _strong_. All the sweat an’ tears ever dropped this side of the Mississippi wouldn’t be waters to qu’ _inch_ the _thirst_ of love...ain't no flood wet e’nuff ta drown it neither. If that ain’t true, than _God_ Allmighty might as well be nothin’ more than a possum.”

Fiore finished standing up at the audience broke into a fit of laughter. Fiore knitted his brow in disapproval, but continued to listen.

“Righ’. SO…I say to you - If any of ya’ll thinkin’ ‘bout tryin’ to go an’ _buy_ love, pick it up from a store like it’s a damn music-pod, ya’ll either too dumb to spit downwind…or you’re intent on bein’ colder than a well-digger’s knee. It ya’ll the former, there’s still time to smartin’ up. An’ if you’s the latter – well, it is never too late to find your seat in the heart of the Lord – if’s ya wan’ it. The key word here is _patience_. An’ faith. But I promise you – there’s someone out there for you. Now. Please join me in prayer. The response will be: My heart is pure, my in _tens_ -yuns clear – Lord, Please brin’ to me my most perfect partner.

“Dear God – Lovin’ Essence of all there is – Please fill us with your sacred Presence, As we explore the deep reaches of our hearts – In releasin’ that which stands in the way of true love, we ask you for assistance.

_My heart is pure, my intentions clear. Lord, please bring to me my most perfect partner._

We each seek a part’ner who enhances us by their _mere_ presence. By their very being. Someone for each of us, someone capable of bringin’ more love, peace, joy, an’ pros- _pear_ -ity into our lives. A person for each of us who’ll love, honor, an’ cherish us – completely, an’ always. Please Lord, May our lives be ready to welcome true love.

_My heart is pure, my intentions clear. Lord, please bring to me my most perfect partner._

May we be humble e'nuff to accept help an’uther’s guidance when offered.

_My heart is pure, my intentions clear. Lord, please bring to me my most perfect partner._

May we be embraced in a circle of your love – an’ be uplifted by your ever-givin’ grace.

_My heart is pure, my intentions clear. Lord, please bring to me my most perfect partner._

Amen….”

Fiore stood still, and for some reason, he found himself wondering about how much DeBlanc knew of his thoughts. Did he know what he thought of him having to vocally surrender his connection to Genesis? Fiore couldn't be sure. A sudden loneliness descended upon him, and Fiore once again started to leave, only to again be interrupted by the radio.

This time, the man’s voice resumed with a surge of loud whitenoise, and Fiore bristled at its suddenness.

“ _Now_. You done the prayin’, an’ you listen’ed to my yammerin’. But are you truly willin’ to find the Lord’s greatest treasure? For $29.99, you can receive the spirit’al help you need – with an order of Set 1 of my DVD series…Reverendin’ Love. Folks, this retails at about $70, but I sense you migh’ be needin’ it more than most. If you subscribe to my weekly newsletter, you'll receive the first two weeks free of charge, an’ get a copy of Set 2 of Reverendin’ Love, completely free. You prayed to God for the sense to accept help when it's offered…and here it is, all laid out on a platter, with an apple in its mouth. Already hitched your wagon? Don't worry – Reverendin’ Love: The Paired an’ Pretty edition is the set for you - don't let your love succumb to the ser’pant’s fruit – for $29.99, you can protect your love like its your land, an’ – ”

Disgusted, wary, and confused, Fiore turned the station key to a Spanish soap opera.

“Mi Amor – el bebé es suyo!” Shouted a woman as Fiore walked quickly out of the bathroom. Curious, he looked back once as he threw the shaving kit into the trunk. Then he saw DeBlanc, and released a deep sigh. Maybe he'd try talking to him after all.


	5. Tired of Sittin' 'round Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiore’s Perspective
> 
> Some conversation with DeBlanc, then a flashback…approx. 1680 words.

#### “I left the radio on for her…” 

He began, speaking in an uncharacteristically earnest tone. Fiore looked toward DeBlanc for some sort of reaction.

But DeBlanc’s features remained miserable and saturated with dread. Not facing Fiore completely, he sort of hummed in his direction and nodded, before turning away again.

Fiore lowered his gaze for a beat. Something urgent and impatient boiled within him – he looked up again with renewed determination.

“Maybe it's not such a good idea…but I'm tired of sitting around here.” Fiore spoke in a rush, as DeBlanc regarded him warily. Fiore continued.

“This at least, you know…” Fiore made some ambiguous actions with his arms, not sure of the word he wanted, or how to say it. Usually, a flicker of amusement would have crossed DeBlanc's features as Fiore struggled – but this time DeBlanc continued to look away. From what he could see of his face, Fiore could tell he was anxious. Lamely, he cut his losses and finished up whatever he was trying to communicate.

“…Shows initiative.” He concluded, nodding with unconvincing confidence. Not that that mattered to DeBlanc, who responded quickly, as though he'd been sitting on his words for a while.

“Why don't we just call Heaven instead…We confess, tell ‘em everything, and then throw ourselves on their mercy.” DeBlanc finally looked at Fiore – his expression seemed to be searching for something, but Fiore was too disturbed by the implications of DeBlanc’s suggestion to figure out what. His face was frozen in an angry shade of confusion, but he managed to reply sternly, and without hesitation.

“We discussed that. They'd separate us forever.”

They would. It was a bit of a miracle they were still together as it was – there were a million conditions tied to the deliverance of the one benefit they’d gotten out of the agreement – that they'd be allowed to continue as they wished. (According to DeBlanc, they'd gotten two benefits – staying together while keeping Genesis. But Fiore found that less and less of a ‘gift’ each day, especially those in most recent memory.)

Forever was a long time. And it meant something to Angels and Demons that it simply could not to humans – whose dalliances were liable to pop up again after death, love overfilling the paradise they'd been promised in exchanged for being trapped in God’s experiment. It was a different scenario for the immortal. He wasn’t sure what it was like in DeBlanc’s camp, but Fiore knew that Angels were strictly monitored should they partake in a relationship. And if it seemed the romance interfered with their heavenly duties, they were separated – dimensionally, permanently – in a word, forever. Fiore and DeBlanc didn't have to worry about heavenly duties beyond the one they’d created. But should heaven have the chance…DeBlanc not actually being an angel, and pretty much universally despised by the handful of higher-ups who knew about him in the order…it would be a simple matter to banish him from Fiore’s reality.

All these thoughts avalanched into a pile of concern in Fiore’s mind. He stared intently back at DeBlanc – until, after a beat of consideration, DeBlanc broke off eye contact. His eyes were…shiny. Reflecting too much light. For whatever reason, this excess of light in DeBlanc's eyes affected Fiore a quite a bit. His resoluteness hiccuped.

DeBlanc looked so… _sad? Was that the right thing to call it?_ Fiore crinkled his brow. _No, that couldn't be it. Something more than that._ DeBlanc looked…beaten. Afraid, even. Heart wrenchingly so.

 _Sad_ …Fiore sighed. He supposed ‘sad’ was technically sufficient enough a word. _Seems awfully small though._ For a thing as wrong as DeBlanc being like this.

Fiore hadn't seen DeBlanc this devoid of hope since right before the terms of the “agreement” had been written up. At the time, it seemed all but inevitable. DeBlanc wouldn't be allowed to stay in heaven. Not with Fiore…an angel. DeBlanc had been hunched over, sitting on their cell bench, elbows resting on his knees, his hands delicately holding his head by the temples.

Fiore, in comparison, had been pacing. Thinking. Or, more likely, attempting to pretend they weren’t as damned as they seemed. This was difficult to do, when he caught sight of DeBlanc's utter despondency. Standing still, Fiore decided to attempt encouragement.

“You don't know what’ll happen.” Fiore began, speaking with what he hoped was a tone firm enough to convey some degree of confidence.

Without lifting his head off his hands, DeBlanc made wary eye contact – catching Fiore off-guard.

“Maybe…you know. Maybe they'll…” As he struggled, he cursed himself for speaking before mapping out exactly what he intended to say.

DeBlanc shook his head quickly, dismissively. As if asking DeBlanc to conceive a future wherein his return to Hell wasn't inevitable was a cruel and painful request.  He spoke, tone low, eyes staring straight ahead.

“ _Fiore_ …even _if_ we managed to avoid a treason sentence – it – it still wouldn't matter – ” Something in DeBlanc’s throat seemed to cut him off here. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

When he looked up at Fiore a beat later, DeBlanc's eyes were...excessively lit. He continued deliberately, with stoic determination. “…Genesis – _Fiore_ – it's _more_ _powerful than God…_ capable of destroying ‘evan and ‘ell…and ev’rything else. What you think – they'll just shrug that off? Leave the three of us to _play house_?.”

Fiore averted his gaze. DeBlanc’s mocking rhetorical question had struck a nerve. Playing house… was _exactly_ what Fiore wanted. To be left alone with DeBlanc…Genesis too, if it made DeBlanc happy. Left alone…playing house.

But DeBlanc was right. They…together…had defiled the sacred harmony of creation. Fiore knew this. And yet _…_ to end it…to take it away _…they couldn't…because then…_ at this point, linear thought would fail him. Fiore’s soul would rattle and threaten to explode…all at the possibility of returning to the existence he served before finding DeBlanc.

Fiore became frustrated. _Not…fair._ He began to pace again.

“It isn’t right. We couldn't help it – can't help it. Doesn't matter what you are, even if – ”

Fiore stopped pacing, catching himself before saying something that DeBlanc wouldn't like. DeBlanc was watching him with a beleaguered ghost of bemusement. Fiore was glad he hadn't finished his thought. He spoke to DeBlanc directly.

“Look – what I mean is, it's real, you know?. The true…thing. Couldn’t happen like it did if it weren't. They all know that, know it. About the… _our_ …” Fiore awkwardly faltered on the unsaid word.

“Love?.” DeBlanc asked flatly, his voice slightly sharpened with challenge.

Fiore swallowed, and nodded, but he didn't finish his thought. Joining DeBlanc on the bench, Fiore stared ahead at the opposite wall.

At the time, he still couldn't admit it. The truth of it. The sincerity of how mutual their feelings truly were. Ever the patient one, DeBlanc never demanded Fiore’s admittance. But the denial always hurt DeBlanc. Like pressing on a well-purpled bruise. Painful, but a pain constant enough to sometimes go unnoticed.

In this instance, the denial like a punch.

Eying Fiore, DeBlanc scoffed bitterly. “Hah – right. The _true thing_.”

Fiore stared ahead. DeBlanc was right to mock him. Fiore attempted to admit what he knew to be true.

“ _DeBlanc_ …” he started softly, “…it _is_ true. I…do. _I do._ I can't…but I'm trying...I am.” Fiore turned toward DeBlanc, his expression urgent as he continued. “And…I... _can't_ lose you. I… _can't_.” Fiore felt his own eyes grow heavy with light. Blinking, he saw DeBlanc's grimace melt away into surprise and concern. Fiore was surprised too. Quickly, he looked away – setting his jaw before he spoke again. “It's real,” he finished, through clenched teeth. He then closed his eyes, focusing on measured breaths in an attempt to regain composure.

A moment later, this meditation was interrupted – as Fiore felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. A presence tangling in the edges of his own…his interior shimmering from mere proximity.

A rippling sensation of sparkling emerged as DeBlanc spoke. Somehow, his voice seemed to harmonize with itself…his normal tone heavily shaded by a rich, reverberating tenderness.

“ _Aye now_ …shh. None of that… _shhh_.” While the hand on his shoulder opened and closed in sync with Fiore’s breathing, a different hand approached his face. Fiore felt a calloused thumb expertly rub away the liquid light which had settled under his closed eyes.

Task completed, the second hand settled into its usual resting place on Fiore’s profile, the calloused thumb tracing slow circles on Fiore’s cheekbone…as though tending to grooves it had created long ago. “ _Shh_ …There's no need… _No need,_ my dear. _Shh._ ”

Fiore reopened his eyes, and found DeBlanc looking up at him with an expression of infinite tenderness, worry, and exhaustion. “Better?” He asked.

Fiore nodded. After a squeeze to his shoulder and a pat to his cheek, DeBlanc brought his hands back to his sides. “Good.” For a moment, they sat there in silence. Then Fiore spoke.

“No point thinking about it…right? Let’s just…rest.”

DeBlanc considered this for a moment. “We can do that.” DeBlanc repositioned his legs horizontally on the bench, and leaned his back along the length of Fiore’s arm. Fiore slouched immediately to accommodate, allowing DeBlanc to lean his neck back over Fiore’s shoulder, and look up at the ceiling.

“You know, Fiore…sometimes I wonder if this is actually comfortable for you. Would you tell me if it wasn't?” Fiore didn't know how, but he could tell from DeBlanc's voice that his eyes were closed. Fiore watched DeBlanc's hand, which was so close his own. Inching carefully, so as to avoid disrupting their position of rest, Fiore moved his hand toward DeBlanc’s...until three of his right fingers were able to nudge three of DeBlanc's left. DeBlanc responded immediately to Fiore's touch, just as Fiore had responded immediately to his, and lifted his congruent fingers in order to allow them to interlace with Fiore's.

“I would.” Fiore said to the air, closing his own eyes. He felt DeBlanc squeeze his fingers once in response. _Rest._

Strange glitter filled his soul – moments of peace with DeBlanc – they had become so precious Fiore would sometimes not even move when revisiting them – too afraid he'd somehow fracture their memory.


	6. It's a Tough One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically finishes up scene, approx. 1100 words, Fiore's perspective.

#### Back in the present, something odd twanged within...

...And Fiore found himself softening his response.

It wasn't as though his plan wasn't without its own flaws, after all. He shifted his weight to his other leg. “Still, we wouldn't be going to Hell, so…” Fiore looked sideways, imagining the grotesque antithesis to his beloved home. He shifted again and clenched his jaw, and tapped his foot a couple times at their imminent reality. “…It's a tough one.” Fiore concluded.

A beat of contemplative silence – and then DeBlanc jumped up. Speaking with sudden brightness, he reached into the pocket of his lapel – pulling out something worn, golden, and familiar.

“Why don't we toss a coin? ‘Eads we go to Heaven, Tails we go to Hell.”

Again, Fiore's features formed expressions without permission. Only this time, the expression was one of fondness, rather than frustration.

“We haven't done a coin toss in ages!” Fiore was smiling, too relieved at DeBlanc's renewed engagement to bother considering the full implications of such a toss.

 _The Coin_ …wisps of inter-dimensional memory danced on the undercurrent of Fiore’s senses… _intrigued, confused glances exchanged across enemy lines…recognizing each other’s recognition of absurdity…souls resonating in their shared wariness…silent understanding guiding their movements…finding quiet places for quiet words…a warm room lit by yellow light…names never meant much of anything until spoken like that…by each other…_ Fiore couldn't help but remember.

An impromptu tie-breaker found in DeBlanc’s pocket, the coin had guided them through most of the quagmires of their relationship…everything from banal rendezvous locations, to their most fateful decision of all. It wasn't gambling, DeBlanc had reasoned with him, because the decisions were about equal actions, and a genuine inability to choose. Fiore enjoyed not agonizing over every decision, and DeBlanc enjoyed risky spontaneity as a rule. Or at least he used to, _before_ …Fiore shook away the thoughts, and focused on DeBlanc's suddenly hopeful presence.

Heaven was always heads. Hell was always tails.

With endearing confidence, DeBlanc grinned, and tossed the coin upward. A familiarly strange – but not unwelcome – shiver passed through Fiore as he watched DeBlanc bite his bottom lip in concentration. DeBlanc always did that. Just like he always followed the coin with his head, catching it with one hand, and immediately flipping the coin onto the back of his other. DeBlanc smiled and raised an eyebrow, as he lifted his hand to see the result.

His face quickly fell. “Hell.” He said, lowering his arms in defeat.

Fiore’s face fell too. In front of him, DeBlanc began to grin again – but not in a way Fiore liked. DeBlanc’s laugh was wrought with scorn, and he was looking to the corners of the room as though he'd find an entity watching their misfortune in amusement. In that moment, Fiore’s resolve cracked. Maybe DeBlanc preferred a guaranteed life in heaven – even if it risked becoming separated from Fiore. 

Or, maybe, DeBlanc couldn't help but avoid Hell at all costs… _Maybe DeBlanc knows something I don't. Maybe it…this…is worth risking?_ They could rest in Heaven, at least. And maybe, they'd find a way to be together…if only in an illusion.

Heaven and Hell aside, Fiore always had immense difficulty _not_ acting to relieve DeBlanc’s anxiety – even if it was against his better judgement.

“Double or nothing.” He said, expression intent.

DeBlanc’s double take at Fiore – his anxiety melting into an expression of barely risked hope – it made Fiore’s soul soar.

Again, DeBlanc tossed up the coin, and again, he caught and flipped it into his other hand. This time however, a slow smile spread across his face – and to his hand, he spoke in relief.

"Heaven."

The word liquified away an immense burden of anxiety that Fiore himself had unknowingly been sustaining.

"Thank. God.” He said, watching DeBlanc exalt the ceiling.

“Heaven it is! Get the phone – _Whew_!”

Fiore basked in DeBlanc's new tone as he danced to fulfill his request. DeBlanc was still joyous at the moment Fiore ducked his head under the bed.

“Good thing, too – you have _no_ idea what it's like down there, believe me – ”

The words were barely reaching him, as Fiore felt his gut plummet in a way he didn't realize it was capable of doing. When Fiore raised his head again, DeBlanc immediately knew things had changed.

“What is it?”

Fiore’s eyes were filling with liquid light, though he didn't understand why. That didn't matter now, though.

“I put it under the bed, I know it.”

DeBlanc's expression intensified, as he hurriedly stuffed their tickets into his jacket. Together they tore apart the room – reversing all the work they'd put into making it inhabitable again after their night spent with the preacher a week previously. Of course, that didn't matter now.

All that mattered now was that the phone _was gone_.

DeBlanc was yelling at him, and Fiore yelled back.

“Under the bed – under the bed!? You left a direct line to heaven’s throne – _under the bed!_ ”

“Thought I was being clever – who checks under the bed anymore!”

DeBlanc placed his hands on his head, pushing his eyebrows up further than they would be able to go naturally – effectively exaggerating his expression of enervated dread. Thoughtlessly, he opened and closed the bedside table door – one final confirmation of what they both knew.

“It's gone.” Fiore spoke the words as though, once said, the physical world might recoil and reject them – producing the phone upon realization that Fiore couldn't find something he obviously needed to find. That wasn't how things worked here, though.

DeBlanc tightened his mouth and set his jaw, returning to his ticket-holding-gargoyle repose with a refreshed expression of embitterment.

“Looks like we're going to Hell.” He did not speak with resentment, but regret.

Fiore knew why. Although losing the phone was devastating – their damnation did not spring from Fiore's poor hiding location. The sin to regret had been tossing the coin. Before then, they could believe that they were choosing Hell for the sake of each other.

But they had wavered, and gambled with the other as the stake…in doing so, they lost the one constant they had had all this time – a shared belief that they would prioritize staying together above all else. Because of the coin toss, they discovered they'd rather go to heaven – and deal with the consequential loneliness and heartbreak only when forced to.

Fiore swallowed hard, and tried to find the confidence he'd had earlier. But the liquid light was seeping out his eyes again. Fiore had tasted it on Earth once before – the light had been salty. He didn't understand why.

Maybe he'd ask DeBlanc later. He probably wouldn't say anything useful, but Fiore knew he'd at least enjoy the answer.


	7. DeBlanc & Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DeBlanc's Perspective...some thoughts, a small flashback, leading into a large flashback in next chapter. Approx. 850 words

#### DeBlanc was returning to Hell.

It was so outlandishly cruel that he wondered if Beelzebub had arranged for this outcome since the beginning.

More than just him, Fiore was coming too. _The angel_ Fiore, _his_ _Fiore_ , accompanying him – a bloody demon – to _Hell_.

 _Hah_. DeBlanc always thought Hell had let him off too easy – but now he understood. Because his treachery had given him everything, Hell decided to wait until that same everything was on the table. DeBlanc would lose it all – which was worse than never having it in the first place…He'd tended to enough corridors of torturous memory to know that much.

Hell was full of souls losing everything. Over and over again. Only fitting he'd return to join them.  

Human souls never adjusted to infinity. In heaven, this meant permanent children perpetually basking in “having lived a life worthy of the glory of God” – reliving their (sinless) memories when they chose, or vacationing in the lives/experiences of others. Some grew tired of this, and sought induction into the Adelphi, or a position as a Sage in purgatory. Some ached after their living loved ones so much that they spent their days either watching Earth, or quietly resting in celestial hibernation. But the grand majority were suitably occupied – relieved to finally have something forever.

To the humans of Hell, “forever” was an incomprehensible curse. There was no rest, there was no slowing down. What memories did exist of sleep were abridged. The soul resided in a form of their body wherein all-encompassing ache was the closest they’d ever get to relief. Time was time, and after a while, humans forgot much beyond the horrible memory they were stuck within. These were the humans whose souls would rot and empty.

One of DeBlanc’s duties had been harvesting these husks of former existence, and delivering them to a Manufacturer…there the husks would be filled with distilled malice and evil, and then released as parasites into the wombs of the living, where they would grow into soulless agents of Satan on Earth.

It was disgusting work.

DeBlanc never dreamed he'd get out of it. (Although, in Hell, he likely never dreamed at all.) With time, he imagined his soul too would rot away. He'd become an evil, mindless worm – dedicated to one Hellish banality for all of time.

This hopeless acceptance of damnation had been brought into question when he became…with Fiore. Suddenly…concepts he'd only ever seen lost, destroyed, or perverted in Hell – were here, whole, and seemingly within his grasp. _Trust_ …that isn't ultimate betrayal lying in wait. _Generosity_ …for the sake of generosity, and nothing more. _Empathy_ …something DeBlanc always suspected he had, but which – like many virtues – he'd been told was impossible for him to possess, understand, or even identify.

And then of course, there was empathy’s most precious result… _love_. A treasure so sweet it still blinded his mind’s eye when he considered the wonder that he had it. Found it. Not just loving, either – but being loved. True love. The rare kind…that mortals couldn't always find, that even Angels didn't understand. What connected God to his creation, and who’s inverse – jealous hate – fueled the fires of Hell. _Love._

Fiore already loved, and was loved. Which made it all the more captivating when, in low tones, never saying the actual word, he confided that this was new for him, too.

“But…isn't that what 'evan is? Love?” DeBlanc asked…speaking louder than necessary, teasing Fiore – who treated the word as though it was monitored – into wincing in a fashion DeBlanc found incredibly endearing and ticklish. 

Fiore continued…eyes sweeping the area for…spies? DeBlanc was never sure. They were inside. “It is…but the – ” Fiore paused, waiting for DeBlanc to fill in the blank.

“…love?” He asked, half smiling, overwhelmed with adoring amusement.

Fiore nodded once, and continued as though DeBlanc read out his line in a script. “ – up there is different. I feel…safe, with heaven. Here, I feel…”

DeBlanc experienced the beginning of heartbreak as he waited for Fiore to reveal he didn't feel safe with him.

Present day DeBlanc's soul fluttered, as he remembered what Fiore had said instead.

“… _complete_. Here with you, I feel _complete_. It's…different.”

DeBlanc was struck silent. He couldn't believe Fiore could give him something so precious, so wonderful, and not even realize it. If this were a Hell chamber, Fiore would turn out to be lying. But…Fiore couldn't lie. Not really. Not suavely. 

Fiore continued to stare ahead. “We can sense each other's emotional history…the highlights, at least. Usually not much variety – except for the seraphim, who don't feel – everyone is about the same. This…this’ll be noticed. Especially without another angel paired to me.”

DeBlanc bristled at the idea, and joined Fiore in staring straight ahead. From then forward, they didn't speak about the inevitable ending on their horizon.


	8. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Flashback, mostly dialogue - interspersed with some thoughts. DeBlanc's perspective. Approx. 3000 words. Can stand alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sort of writing is not something I usually do - it is likely a bit uneven, but I think the heart of the characterization is there enough to be tolerable.

#### But they did continue to get closer. Almost fervently so…

...Both of them knowing the other's loss was surely around the next corner.

The night it happened, they were at a dingy inter-dimensional motel…one they stayed at often. All day, they had been avoiding the other’s touch. Not sure they could stop it, once it started. They were in separate beds at the time, laying in silence.

The beds were so close though.

Fiore spoke upward.

“Wasn’t expecting this. Were you?”

DeBlanc coughed out a laugh.

“…No. Hah – I – _hah_ no.”

Fiore hummed in thought. DeBlanc was still surprised at how little Fiore understood about Hell. DeBlanc could barely think there at all, least of all consider the likelihood of an astronomically improbable theoretical conundrum. DeBlanc closed his eyes for a beat, and said thank you. He’d taken to doing that a lot recently, when he remembered Hell. He wasn’t sure who he was thanking, but…it seemed wrong not to.

Fiore spoke again.

“It’s…getting harder to control, isn’t it?”

DeBlanc sighed.

“Yeah. It is.”

There was a beat of silence. DeBlanc couldn’t know for sure, but he was pretty certain the two of them were both reflecting on just _how hard_ abstaining had become. As far as their essence’s went, it was science. For whatever reason, their energies were on the precipice of uncontrolled connection. The slightest contact sent both of their systems plummeting toward each other for more…electric momentum. “ _Hard_ ” seemed an understatement. DeBlanc was fairly certain _not_ -conjoining was just short of impossible, at least if they continued to see each other.

Fiore swallowed loudly, and spoke again.

“Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“What…would happen?” Fiore asked.

It was a good question. DeBlanc only knew so much about dimensions and energy replication from working in Hell, and was only able to learn a little more from Fiore.

“Dunno. We might die, I suppose. Or get trapped somewhere.”

“Together?” Fiore’s tone was mostly inquisitive, but there was also a degree of hopefulness in the question – which had not gone undetected.

DeBlanc frowned. _Ah Fiore..._ Revelations like this made him worry.

“ _Maybe_ …but we wouldn’t be, you know. _Okay_.”

“Ah.” Fiore said, dejectedly.

“Yeah.” DeBlanc said back.

More silence.

“Would there be…you know.”

DeBlanc didn’t know. “Be…what? Consequences? I’d expect so.”

“No not that…well, maybe in a sense – but…that’s not what I meant.” Fiore struggled to find the words. “I mean, will there be a…a little…”

DeBlanc raised his eyebrows and coughed in surprise. He hadn’t even thought of that.

“Ah, _No_. No no no. It’s…impossible. We couldn’t. Huge hole in the system there, if we could.”

Fiore continued to muse about a cross-entity child, much to DeBlanc’s discomfort.

“What would it even be like? Think we’d like it? Or would it just come out all wrong?”

“It wouldn’t come out anything, because it isn’t possible. No way they’d let it happen. Creation came with rules.” DeBlanc spoke quickly, with a level of frustration – though he wasn’t sure why. _Maybe ‘cause producing a child’s the only outcome that’d end up hurting others?_ DeBlanc shook away the thought. Doesn’t matter, it isn’t possible.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Fiore said dreamily, appearing not to have noticed DeBlanc’s disconcerted tone.

DeBlanc couldn’t be sure, but… _Was Fiore…disappointed? Well, if he_ does _want a child, he could apply for a compatible angel through the Seraphim…then they, together, would raise it, in an angel home, with little games and songs and_ – DeBlanc’s soul suddenly grew hard with jealousy, and hot with rage. At the heart of it, was a deep hatred for this other angel DeBlanc had created. The individual he imagined would replace him seamlessly – Fiore moving forward without a hiccup, while DeBlanc returned to rotting eternally down below. These thoughts always came with a slight resentment toward Fiore…who would inevitably continue a charmed existence, without him.

But that wasn’t Fiore’s fault.

DeBlanc closed his eyes, and thought about Fiore to calm down. _You have now. Don’t think about the rest. This is…a gift. You’re lucky._

“Well?” Fiore asked, from the bed over. DeBlanc must have missed something.

“Sorry – I…didn’t hear you.” DeBlanc supplied, lamely. Not that Fiore noticed.

“I _said_ – What now? What do we do?”

DeBlanc stared at the ceiling, and thought about things he couldn’t have.

“I dunno Fiore. Suppose we could flip a coin.”

There was a pause.

“All right. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

DeBlanc’s soul hiccuped.

“You’re…serious?”

“Yeah. You got the coin?” Fiore sounded so…sure.

 _Maybe…maybe._ DeBlanc felt the coin through the outside of his coat pocket.

“Ah…yeah. I’ve got it. So…” He paused, giving Fiore another chance to back out of it.

“What are the sides?” Fiore asked, sounding a tad impatient.

“Ah – Right. Heads is no…and tails’ll be…ya know. _Not_ no. What you think?”

Fiore stared up his half of the ceiling. “Why isn't heads…not no?”

“It can be.” DeBlanc’s tone was saturated with confusion. What was Fiore doing? “I was just keepin with, you know. What we always do…heads for heaven’s choice, tails for hell’s”

Fiore crinkled his brow, glaring at the ceiling.

“So, _Hell_ would be okay with it then?”

DeBlanc frowned.

“Course not. Just talking bout love is enough for them to….” DeBlanc paused, trying to re-repress his knowledge of Hell’s consequences.

“To what?” Fiore asked sharply.

DeBlanc wasn't going to talk about it.

“…Doesn't matter.”

Fiore released a small hum of disapproval. DeBlanc knew why. Although Fiore had learned a great deal about DeBlanc – he had learned next to nothing about DeBlanc’s…home. _Better that way, really._ DeBlanc thought, pushing forward.

“Anyway, what I mean is… _No_ …is the right, good decision. So, it's ‘evan’s side. _Not_ no is…bad. Wrong. So it's ell’s.”

Fiore spoke with unexpected frustration.

“Do you _think_ that? That it be _wrong_?”

DeBlanc turned his head toward Fiore, who continued to glare at the ceiling.

“…What? Don't you?”

Fiore was silent. This conversation had taken a confusing turn. DeBlanc turned back to his half of the ceiling, and spoke after a few moments of consideration.

“Maybe it isn't _strictly_ wrong…in a _philosophical_ sense. Since there’s no precedent. But as far as _legality_ goes, this definitely sprung from something across-the-boards forbidden. And rules, following them and such, is heaven’s thing.”

Fiore tightened and relaxed his jaw.

“ _Both_ heaven _and_ hell have rules.”

DeBlanc sighed in exasperation. “ _Yes_ , but –”

Fiore cut him off. “And _some_ rules are…wrong, and I mean _wrong_ , in a ‘ _philosophical_ sense.’” Fiore’s voice got lofty as he mirrored DeBlanc’s tone in imitation. Impressed, DeBlanc chuckled genuinely, which in turn provoked a small laugh from Fiore.

DeBlanc couldn’t see Fiore’s face, but he knew the expression that he made. Whenever DeBlanc laughed at something Fiore intended to be funny, he would smile in pride for a split second – and promptly lose his train of thought. It was incredibly endearing, as it was DeBlanc’s approval that flustered him.

A moment later, Fiore was hesitating awkwardly. _As he does._ DeBlanc thought.

Speaking gently through a small, wistful smile, DeBlanc reminded Fiore where he’d left off.

“Some are wrong, you said?”

Fiore caught on and continued.

“ _Right_. The rules…some of them…are horrible.” Fiore began to speed up, impassioned. “Rooted in a hypocritical prioritization of perpetuating the system. Bureaucracy is strangling out good intentions, or progress. And we – we're _supposed_ to know better.”

Fiore paused to take a breath. DeBlanc waited patiently, not sure of where Fiore was headed. When Fiore spoke again, he seemed to be trying awfully hard to remain calm.

“Sloth is the hardest sin to catch…because it never moves, but always might. That's what we’ve become – _slothful_. Lazy. What's the point? At least humans have the fear of death to blame. What excuse do _we_ have?”

DeBlanc reflected on this, and responded delicately. It was not often Fiore became so outspoken against The Order running heaven, but when he did, he was quick to condemn them. DeBlanc, never wanting to encourage what he feared he represented, responded to such rants with measured diplomacy.

“You're saying ‘we’ – but you mean you. There are horrible rules in hell. _It's hell._ But there's also no… _aspirin’_ there. No quest to be ‘better.’ That's what your Order gives you. Hope. We don’t ave that down there.”

Fiore sighed deeply, in the sorrowful way he did when DeBlanc spoke about what Hell didn’t have.

“There’s no hope there?”

“None.” DeBlanc answered, voice flat.

Fiore shook his head in the corner of DeBlanc’s eye.

“…How?”

DeBlanc’s jaw tightened. “It’s Hell.”

Fiore reflected on this, while DeBlanc focused on forgetting again. Fiore’s words were said carefully, when he spoke again.

“Well…Iot of us start out hopeful, but after a time, just doesn’t make sense anymore. Lot of…you know…destruction to weed through. To hope through. And you learn not to.”

“Hmm.” DeBlanc hummed. Fiore continued.

“Course, for me, it's come back. Recently. Because you know. This. Y-you.” Fiore stuttered on the last word, as though the word was something heavy, and his voice couldn't help but tremble a bit holding its weight.

“That’s… _Fiore_. That’s...a sweet thing you said there.” DeBlanc tried to encourage Fiore’s version of affection when he could. Oftentimes though, the thrill was too much to respond fully.

Fiore waited a beat, then continued, regathering momentum as he spoke. “Well – it’s real. And I don’t understand. _DeBlanc_ – how can it be wrong if it’s real? We discovered _it_. The most precious part – of creation! How can it be _wrong_?”

“It's wrong because it's me.” DeBlanc said dryly. “Nothing good comes outta ‘ell. Didn’t they tell you?” DeBlanc was only half joking. Fiore needed to remember the distinction for his own good.

But Fiore was shaking his head. “That’s… _shite_ DeBlanc, and you know it.” He paused meaningfully. “Or. You _should_.”

DeBlanc didn't say anything. Fiore continued.

“Anyway, still doesn't explain why it's a rule for hell too. If ‘nothing good’ can come outta hell, why'd they stress telling you all about staying away from Angels? Worst case scenario, you'd just do something bad, right? Corrupt an angel, or something. So why the rule?”

Privately he dissected Fiore’s words. _Corrupt_. _How could Fiore not see it like that?_ After a beat, DeBlanc shrugged, and spoke with an edge of frustration.

“Well? You got an answer?”

Fiore nodded. “I think I do. Both heaven and hell fear the same thing. Different power. Change.”

DeBlanc closed his eyes, ‘ _corrupt’_ still ringing in his head.

As it did, he responded back tiredly. “ _Ah_ , I see.” DeBlanc yawned. “That makes sense. But…does that mean heaven’s wrong, or that hell is…” DeBlanc reopened his eyes, reawakened by the realization he couldn't even say it. “Hell…is always wrong.” He finished slowly, looking toward Fiore.

Fiore shook his head excitedly at the ceiling. “That's what I'm saying. Heaven and Hell want the same thing…they're both the wrong side.”

“Huh.” DeBlanc nodded, impressed. He sat up. “All right, you've convinced me. Without changing our rules, we can have heaven's side be with hell's. Ready?”

There was a long pause, Fiore hadn't moved. DeBlanc coughed.

“ _I said_ …Ready? Heads… _not_ no, tails no?”

Fiore made a strange noise…sort of like an anxious groan. DeBlanc laid back down in defeated exasperation.

“ _Now_ what?”

Fiore made another strange sound. Like a nervous whinny. DeBlanc massaged his temple.

“Feee- _your_ …” DeBlanc sang. “ _Oh_ dearest, s _weet-sweet_ Feee-your. _Whaaat_ is it?”

The singing worked. Fiore spoke in a rush.

“I…I think I’ve changed my mind.”

DeBlanc looked confused. “What, about tossin’ the coin?”

“No…” Fiore took a deep breath. “…about the sides. Which ones to use…”

DeBlanc sat up halfway to look at him. “Are you serious?”

Fiore nodded miserably, staring at the ceiling. DeBlanc sighed.

“All right Fiore, what changed?” DeBlanc laid back down, and idly chewed on his bottom lip while he waited.

“Well…” he started, awkwardly.

" _Come on,_ out with it.” DeBlanc added, sensing Fiore’s hesitance.

Fiore began to gesticulate in the corner of DeBlanc's line of vision. DeBlanc listened, keeping his bemusement under wraps. Fiore was trying to say something. _Ah. He is trying. That's what is so…_ DeBlanc guiltily shook away his smile, returning doubly intent on hearing Fiore out.

“…because…well, before – you _know_. It wasn't – but that…now it can't – won’t be – an _that's_ the entire point of it, right? Course now – maybe I messed up again – but dunno, really – are, are there coins with three sides? That might work – though, four sides might be better – guess we could practice – ”

DeBlanc's features formed unique expressions of climbing bewilderment with each new word. He sat up, as Fiore continued.

" – we could draw the choices from a hat, then we –”

“Oi – ” DeBlanc started.

“ – shouldn't have said anything, but then – if – ”

DeBlanc spoke louder. “ _Oi_ – Fiore – ”

“ – course that's why we do it – but, got caught up in proving a point – ”

“FIORE!”

There was finally silence.

“…Yeah?” Fiore eventually answered.

DeBlanc rubbed his eyes and smiled wearily. “Aye – sit up. Look at me.”

Fiore slowly carried out the request, sitting on the side of his own bed, finally facing DeBlanc.

“All right. That's better. Fiore, what's goin’ on?” DeBlanc watched Fiore's face undulate between different shades of anxiety. He spoke to what he assumed was the problem. “It’s _okay_. We don't have to even toss a coin – You shouldn't feel like this – we don't even have to talk about – ”

Fiore interrupted, waving off DeBlanc's guilty back treading.

“ _No_. I want the coin toss. But…because I changed the sides, I messed it up. Now I'm responsible for it – and _that_ defeats the entire purpose. So…”

DeBlanc nodded and watched Fiore's worry with fascination. “Ah…okay. Well, how about this –changed it once – can't change it again. And…” DeBlanc clapped his hands together for effect. “…That's it.”

Fiore opened his mouth to say something, but then changed his mind. He nodded once.

DeBlanc raised an eyebrow, and nodded slowly himself, reaching into his pocket for the coin.

"All right. Heads…is _not_ – ”

“Yes.” Fiore interrupted.

DeBlanc's features pinched toward where a head ache was beginning to form. “Do you mean…heads is _not_ yes? Or are you changing ‘not no’ to – ”

“Yes.” Fiore said again.

DeBlanc looked up, then back at Fiore, still unsure. “Are you completing my sentence, or answering me?”

Fiore opened his mouth for a split second – but DeBlanc waves for him to stop. “Nev’rmind – jus…tell me what you mean.”

“Heads is yes. Tails is…”

“ _Tails is no._ Right. Let's try this again. Ready?” DeBlanc looked at Fiore seriously. Fiore nodded.

DeBlanc stood, the coin on his thumb. After a final nod to Fiore, the coin went up with a familiar ding. And then it was in DeBlanc's palm. In a fluid motion, DeBlanc flipped his palm onto the top of his other hand.

All that was left was the reveal. DeBlanc began to lift the hand –

“ _Wait!_ ” Fiore shouted, as though DeBlanc wasn't within arms’ reach.

Startled, DeBlanc jumped – stumbling backward onto the bed, he was just barely able to keep the coin where it belonged. For a long while, DeBlanc laid halfway on the bed, holding the coin’s answer in place. Eventually, he sat up…again positioned parallel to Fiore. He looked at the angel, expectantly.

“Yes, Fiore…”

Fiore was staring at DeBlanc's hands, deliberating over something DeBlanc was not privy to.

“Wait…”

DeBlanc sighed. “Okay.” He supposed it made sense. Angels – unlike demons – have a lot to lose.

As he watched Fiore's eyes shift back and forth between DeBlanc's face and his enclosed hands, the demon suddenly knew that – no matter what the coin said – he would have to leave Fiore. The deliberation had gone on too long, and he couldn't…in good conscience…leave Fiore’s fate to a coin toss. Fiore didn't have to be damned. Internally, DeBlanc's soul began to weep – as externally, he stoically watched Fiore struggle to tell him terrible news.

“DeBlanc…” Fiore always spoke his name so carefully. Delicately. Like it was precious.

DeBlanc nodded. “Yes, Fiore?" 

Fiore's face was resolved…he was focused now. Carrying out a plan.

“… _DeBlanc_.” He repeated.

DeBlanc didn't say anything, just waited.

And then, Fiore did something unexpected. With deliberate movements, Fiore placed one hand, and then the other, on top of DeBlanc's stacked hands. DeBlanc looked at the stack, confused. Their knees were touching now too. The beds were _so_ close. DeBlanc looked up at Fiore, truly unsure of what would come next…but willing to enjoy the lights Fiore had sent waltzing throughout his soul while he could.

Fiore’s tone was low and soft. “Would it matter? The coin?”

DeBlanc swallowed. “Doesn't have to matter.” His words did not have enough breath to be audible…unless you were Fiore, unless you were _right_ _there_ in front of him.

Fiore nodded, and removed his hands. “Then…put it away. Don't look at it, just…put it away.”

DeBlanc paused to consider what Fiore was asking…but he couldn’t think beyond how Fiore’s hands had felt, or how _close_ their beds were. Closing his top hand into a fist around the coin, he didn't break eye contact with the Angel as he quickly slipped the coin back into his pocket. Results unseen.

Never seen.

DeBlanc scrambled aside to make space as Fiore joined him on his bed. He still couldn't think. The two stared at the ceiling in silence for a moment. The backs of their hands were touching.

“Ready?” Fiore said. DeBlanc

“Probably not.” DeBlanc admitted. “But…I’m ready enough. You?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Fiore was more assured. This gave DeBlanc comfort, in spite of his better judgement…which was packed far away now.

DeBlanc felt Fiore's soul begin to tangle with his own. _Wouldn’t be long._ How could it be? How was this happening?  

But thoughts couldn't stop them now. They had slipped over the edge of control, into the entropy of inevitability. Two incompatible souls, opposite energies, occupying the same space. Choosing each other over Hell, over Heaven – over God. Ultimate priority…total synchronicity.

It was beyond anything they ever could have imagined. And just like that, they were damned.


	9. He just has questions.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is starting a new scene, the El Valero one in the church. 
> 
> So, I may move this to the first chapter, if we want to keep the order consecutive. But until I fully finish writing it, I'll probably leave it where it is - I am coming back to where we left them before.
> 
> Jesse is in this scene, but it mainly revolves around DeBlanc's thoughts on the use of Genesis as he is convincing Jesse to cooperate. 
> 
> Like in chapter two, I use a lot of the dialogue directly included in the original scene - but intersperse it with thoughts from a particular perspective. I'm letting you know in case reading show dialogue is tiresome for some of you.
> 
> This chapter is from DeBlanc's perspective, and includes a brief flashback. Approx. 1800 words.

#### A small, eye-level, opening in the church door slid aside, revealing only the preacher's face.

"Come in." His voice was hoarse and reeked of hard liquor. The human had spiraled quickly in the last twenty-four hours.

DeBlanc and Fiore looked to each other to share a weary expression. The preacher was failing to meet their incredibly low expectations.

They turned back toward the face in the door.

"We _can't_. Remember?” DeBlanc's eyes widened as he himself was again faced with the absurd potency of the spoken command.

The preacher had obviously _not_ remembered. Processing their words even more slowly than usual, he eyed the two of them once each – before saying:

_"Come in."_

Having one uncomfortable inevitability replaced by a new uncomfortable inevitability was not the solution DeBlanc had hoped for. He exchanged a second weary glance with Fiore as the two of them were forced to enter the church.

Fiore's jaw shifted out of line with his teeth, while DeBlanc chewed the inside of his bottom lip.

To be fair, there was no way the human could know how personally affronted the "two" angels became whenever he used Genesis. They barely understood their reaction themselves.

Yes, using Genesis was dangerous. Volatile. But their offense sprung from something deeper.

Despite all its potential, Genesis was still quite...impressionable. DeBlanc wasn't sure how much input Genesis had in the actions of those it chose as a host. How clearly he was able to communicate.

If Genesis was both an entity, and a power to be wielded – did that mean Genesis, when used, lost its own free will? Could Genesis refuse something the preacher wanted done?

 _More-powerful-than-God_ or not, Genesis was still a baby, relatively speaking. And didn't know much beyond the fact it was capable of knowing more.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. In theory, Genesis knew all. But in practice, Genesis had not had many experiences external of the little world they created for it in the domicile. Until recently of course.

The preacher led the two of them to a hole of pried up floorboards in the center of the aisle. 

"I sent a kid to hell." The preacher said miserably, gesturing to the hole as if it contained evidence.

DeBlanc and Fiore peered over the pried up floorboards, seeing only soil underneath. DeBlanc's leeriness about the preacher's state of mind increased.

"What d'you mean?” DeBlanc asked sharply.

The preacher groaned and explained. "I told him to go to hell. With the…with Genesis. And he just…disappeared. I – I – think I heard yellin – from somewhere else. For a second. But he was gone."

 _Yellin? He means screaming. Much worse._ No. DeBlanc couldn't think of that now. Or at least, he wouldn't.

The preacher was still looking meaningfully at the hole. "I tried to call him back." He explained forlornly.

Fiore turned away at this point – too embarrassed on the preacher’s behalf to keep looking.

"It was an accident." The preacher continued to stare longingly at the soil.

"Yes." DeBlanc agreed with stern, paternal admonishment – the kind that demanded further admittance of one's wrongdoing.

The preacher turned, meeting DeBlanc's eyes with a suddenly childlike expression.

"I should have listened." He said with sad, validating, sincerity.

"That's right." DeBlanc scolded, turning to help Fiore with the trunk.

"But I didn't.” There was a beat of silence as the the preacher stood up. “Can you – can you help us?” Preacher called out as DeBlanc and Fiore continued to the front. The two turned around with a start.

" _What_?” Fiore shot back.

DeBlanc eyed the preacher carefully. "’Oo's 'us'? Who else knows about this?”

The preacher examined the empty air around him with a bit of curiosity and unease before responding.

"Uh – no – no one. Just me. I – I was wondering."

DeBlanc and Fiore again exchanged looks. It was paramount Genesis be removed from this man as soon as possible.

DeBlanc began taking out the tarp while Fiore unfolded the music box stand.

"Can you - is it possible to bring a person back from Hell?” The preacher called out, staggering closer.

"No." DeBlanc said firmly.

"Yes." Said Fiore, with equal conviction.

DeBlanc’s look of surprise quickly hardened into betrayal as he met Fiore’s eyes. This slip-up had not been an accident.

Fiore only dared to hold the gaze for a second, before he looked down and away from DeBlanc. Guiltily, but with the undertones of a challenge. _The other option._ DeBlanc detached from Fiore’s eyes with as much anger he could convey silently. Swallowing his frustration, he turned back to the trunk, speaking over his shoulder as he did so.

"It's...difficult."

"Dangerous." Fiore added. _Was it in his head, or was Fiore avoiding DeBlanc's eyes with as much passive aggression as DeBlanc was avoiding his?_

"But _it's_ _possible_." The preacher’s tone scratched at DeBlanc’s essence like nails on a chalkboard. He couldn't stand the sound of hope from the mouths of the damned.

Grabbing the domicile, DeBlanc turned to end this talk of Hell. “ _But listen._ Nobody’s getting out of Hell ‘til we get what we came for.”

The preacher swallowed, then nodded. 

\--

Of course, he did not go down easily.

“You're gonna sing it outta me?”

“Lie down.” DeBlanc, realizing the preacher was afraid of using Genesis, had decided to stop being forthcoming.

“This power chose me.” The preacher looked the tarp with the eyes of a changing mind. oblivious to the chagrin that statement caused the two non-humans in the room.

“Chose a lot of people.” DeBlanc responded back cooly.

Preacher’s eyes brightened, encouraged by this new revelation of information.

“And what happened to them?”

“They exploded.” Fiore intoned from the other side of the music box.

Despite flinching at Fiore's answer, the preacher seemed to take this information in stride.

"Then why haven't I?”

"We dunno." DeBlanc spoke with the uninterested candor of someone running late for an appointment.

In truth, DeBlanc had some ideas. He remembered back to his early conjecture, when they were traveling to Texas.

DeBlanc had been watching the sky through the passenger window, trying to think of a way to introduce the subject to a moody and tired Fiore. He led with a false cough.

“ _A-hem_ – You _know_ – he went to someone ‘good’ first. Should make you proud.”

Fiore glared at the road ahead. “… e exploded.”

DeBlanc continued to watch the sky. “ _Well_ , the ‘bad’ one exploded too. So, you know, that's something. That he…”

“Explodes people?” Fiore provided, the edge in his voice increased.

DeBlanc furrowed his brow. “ _No_ , no. That…you know. He doesn't _just_ explode ‘good’ people. He – ”

“Explodes people.” Fiore repeated, firmer.

“But _all_ kinds!” DeBlanc turned to speak to Fiore's profile. “Doesn't matter if they're ‘good’ or not – Genesis couldn't… _be_ in a ‘bad’ one any more than ‘e could be in a ‘good’ one.”

“Mmm.” Fiore was still extremely new to corporeal communication at the time, and DeBlanc couldn't help but notice wryly that the sounds Fiore learned the quickest were a collection of small hums of disapproval.

"I'm just saying. ‘e’s better than you thought.” DeBlanc leaned back in his seat. In response, Fiore glared at the road a little harder, and gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly than was necessary.

As time went on, and the preacher continued not to explode, DeBlanc eventually concluded that this fourth choice had both enough ‘good’ and ‘bad’ in him to sate Genesis’s moral appetite. It wasn't an ideal discovery, though he supposed it could be worse. Genesis _could_ just be bad.

And – as woefully irresponsible, unstable, and arrogant the preacher turned out to be – he was still _trying_ to be good. Which was more than could be said for the satanist overseer in Moscow.

In the present, the bad preacher with good intentions continued.

“See? _This_ is what I mean – _What else_ don’t we know?”

" _We don't know_." Fiore replied, speaking in a manner that mocked the Preacher's tone and question.

Under other circumstances, this would have made DeBlanc grin a fraction. Under other circumstances, he would catch Fiore anxiously waiting for his reaction. But these circumstances were far too grim – the stakes too high. The mention of returning to Hell hanging like a cloud of ice between the two of them.

"Don't you have questions?” The human asked, turning to Fiore.

"No!" Fiore yelled back, too scandalized at the suggestion to realize how contextually misplaced his volume had been.

DeBlanc rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Lie down, preacher."

The human looked back and forth between the two of them, and stretched out on the tarp. A moment later, he sat up again – speaking quickly.

“No one understands God’s plans at first – I mean, look at the prophets – at the beginning, they were all in the dark. Maybe God _wants_ me to have this – maybe God _wants_ me here, doin good – you, you – ”

The preacher – wild eyed and desperate, face wrecked with the pain of not understanding – begged for comfort. But DeBlanc’s features didn't budge. And even though he still was unwilling to look at him, he trusted that Fiore's wouldn't either. 

“I just have questions,” the human finished, his tone falling in defeat to their stoicism. DeBlanc sighed, and spoke.

“We've got a question for you, preacher. Genesis – the grea’est power ever known – an you've had it all this time, right there at the tip of your tongue.” _Fool_ he thought sadly, leaning in closer.

“ _...and what good have you done with it?”_ DeBlanc watched the preacher’s face drain of expression. He'd said the right thing. “Lie down.” He repeated – a request which, this time, was heeded.

 _Well, look at that. Still good at destroying hope, after all this time. Beelzebub would be proud…_ He thought grimly, clenching his teeth at the realization.

As Fiore readied the music box, DeBlanc considered the human laying on the tarp before him.

 _Hah, questions._ The preacher's determination to understand – his faith in meaning, and in larger purpose – the familiarity formed a bitter rock in DeBlanc’s throat. _Questions. We all ave questions, preacher._

 _Oh yes._ They had had questions alright.

 _Maybe we're_ supposed _to be together. Maybe we're special – maybe we're chosen._ Haha. _Questions._

DeBlanc realized he was having to put a lot of effort into maintaining a grim, emotionless expression. He sighed, calming himself, leaving all the troubling truths undealt with.

DeBlanc placed the domicile on the preacher's stomach, realizing for the first time how strange this scene would look to most human onlookers. _Huh. The vamp-friend sure didn't skip a beat. Interesting crowd…_ he mused, waiting for the song to start.


	10. Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (UPDATE: Most recent chapter is Chapter 3)
> 
> Genesis hears the song. Approx. 700 words - Genesis's perspective. 
> 
> Trying something here...style very different from other perspectives. Stream of consciousness, 2nd person, in reference to Genesis.
> 
> If you cannot figure out for sure who Genesis is referring to, I have included a list at the end notes. It may be unnecessary- but in case it isn't clear.

__

####  _A Calmness..._

_…Welling…_

Home was near.

_Soft edges. Smooth surface._

The place to go and be without lacking.

_They want to bring you back again._

Left’s voice plays with the moon and the sky, while Right watches and feels and weaves an ocean.

_And you are the boat, and you are the nod, and you hold them both together._

This time Left is worry. The stage he sings trembles with glances and quiet thoughts. His doubt tears lightning across the sky – and Left is fear. But the sky is only beautiful because it can change. You love the sky he sings. Why is he fear?

_Back again, back again._

In the lightning he sees rage. Fires devouring all. Hate grinding flesh into screams. Left does not want to remember, but more than that – he does not want you to learn. He is fear because of what you can love – love, or know, or want, or be.

_They want to bring you back again._

Right is focus. Never there to play, but to maintain. Right watches Left, watches you, keeps the ocean calm. If Right is frustration, the ocean becomes brittle slate that holds no dreams and cannot dance with the sky. If Right is skepticism, the ocean is not deep enough to carry you. So Right must be focus.

_All to bring you back again._

Right knows of the fire behind Left's lightning. He does not care. From the fires and screams came Left, who is not those things.

_And Right is never fear with Left._

With you, Right is judgement. He sees Left is fear, and looks to you. He sees Left is worry, and looks to you. He sees he and Left are strained, and looks to you. You and what you see, what you do, are disappointment.

You do not understand Left and Right.

_But you understand Left and Right and You. When they give you words and sounds and let you play, they too sparkle and glimmer and you become home._

You could bring them back again.

_Left is the sky, and Right is the sea. A different dream scaped – but with the same three._

Words tumble, twirl, create.

_And you are the boat, and you are the nod, and you hold it all together._

The moon is the rest. Those who wonder and watch.

_Anyone else. Anything who looks, any who can see, any who ask and are kindness, or curiosity._

This time Found One is the moon. Found One and the False Other you let him sustain to feel safe. They watch and do not understand what you are and become or why Right and Left can take you away.

_When the water glitters and the fish are stars, Found One cannot see what you see._

Then there are the Bad Ones. Those who scratch and grip and tear away the sky from the sea – creating a void you contain while being. They hate Right and Left, and you hate them. You would have them boil and wretch and shred their souls into starlight. You would husk their form and fill any hollows with splintering glass.

_They are the Bad Ones, and with them you are hate._

But the Bad Ones are not here now, as Left sings out a sky and Right plays out an ocean.

You like Found One. But he is not sure about you anymore. Because you did what he wanted, and you both found it was not what he forever wanted. Not what you wanted. Now the Hurt One is in the fires Left does not want to remember, does not want you to see.

_Hurt One is someone's nod._

The worry and loss you see in Hurt One's someone is startling and unpleasant. Found One lost a nod. He is guilt when he thinks of nod and of Bright One who is anger and grief and confusion and who he cannot face.

_Nods do not belong in the fires. Your Left and Right can bring him back._

_But you are Left and Right's nod, and first you must let them take you back again._

Found One is letting go of you. Right and Left are reaching the end. You think you understand.

_You will go home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> List of Genesis's Identities below, if you want to know for sure-  
> Left: DeBlanc  
> Right: Fiore  
> You: Genesis  
> Bad Ones: Any who would split DeBlanc and Fiore apart  
> Found One: Jesse  
> False One: Hallucination of Eugene  
> Nod: A child  
> Hurt One: Eugene  
> Hurt One's someone: Sheriff Root  
> Bright One: Tulip


	11. Entanglement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genesis returns to the domicile. Fiore's perspective, one brief flashback. A little under 1500 words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is presently the newest - however, I have also inserted a new chapter above - Chapter 3. So, two new chapters, very different locations.

#### As the church began to rumble...

...Fiore felt his soul stretching out toward Genesis. He’d felt this before. His essence became elastic and uncontrolled in its movement – plummeting toward the creation whenever Genesis was in a position of vulnerability.

_Or rather, seeming vulnerability_ – Fiore corrected internally. The fact he could _even consider_ Genesis as an entity capable of possessing vulnerability epitomized _just how completely_ this impulse to… _protect_ Genesis transcended all logic.

Maybe he’d be more upset at this breach in rationality – but Fiore knew it wasn’t just happening to him. DeBlanc’s soul did the exact same thing. Fiore could feel it stretching with his own – straining with the same unnamed, mystifying connection to Genesis. It was a bizarre sensation. Not just the soul-stretching, but his automatic awareness of _DeBlanc’s_ soul-stretching. It was almost as though he experienced both souls’ set of sensations simultaneously…yet while maintaining a clear understanding of who was feeling what. Which was…even celestially speaking…not normal.

Fiore tried to focus on reining in his own soul – but the momentum of DeBlanc’s made this a frustrating improbability. He stopped fighting, revisiting quiet conundrums while waiting for his cue.

Although this variety of understanding DeBlanc always occurred when dealing with Genesis – its existence predated their… _creation_ of…creation. And all this time later, it remained an anomaly. Fiore _still_ did not understand why he was capable of sensing his other’s soul so acutely.

These thoughts seemed to trouble only him, however. DeBlanc had never complained about the phenomena. In fact, he barely even questioned it.

When asked, he had cocked his head for a beat before extending to Fiore his profound, albeit functionally unhelpful, perspective of the situation.

“ _Well_ …I don’t understand it in any way _you’d_ like. As in, I can’t explain it using the kind of terms ‘n disconnect you’re looking for. But… _Fiore_ …doesn’t it, I dunno, sort of _make sense?_ We’re…well. You _know_. Why _wouldn’t_ we know each other like that?” DeBlanc shrugged. “Dunno. It makes sense to me.”

Later, when things became more difficult, Fiore found the awareness strangely comforting. Not just knowing the status of DeBlanc’s soul, but knowing DeBlanc knew the status of his.

There were times DeBlanc would know things Fiore didn’t. Although they could both describe the sensations literally, DeBlanc was better at understanding the meaning behind what their souls shared. _Stretching toward Genesis_ was their souls attempt to extend protection, which DeBlanc said was “a surprisingly natural response, ya know, considerin.” _Knotted too tightly_ meant Fiore was being bothered by a lack of control, and that he would benefit from resting near DeBlanc. _Still, glowing, warm_ meant they were together, and everything was okay.

He didn’t think he could let go of someone knowing him like that. Someone there. That said, Fiore did not have any understanding of what it meant to be lonely until he wasn’t anymore. If he had never learned, then… _but of course, you did learn._ Fiore sighed. Their connection was as strange as it was potent. Such was the nature of their entanglement.

“Get ready…” Fiore felt DeBlanc’s voice before he heard it. It seemed like Fiore's mind was often the last to be cued in to these sorts of things. His body already knew – Fiore tossing the Domicile lid over to where the Preacher lay almost simultaneously with DeBlanc’s words. The preacher already knew – eyes wide as he watched a galaxy emerge in a rush and a swirl and swoop into the domicile held out for it.

DeBlanc already knew, as he quickly reset the lid, before all went quiet.

Only then, in the immediate stillness, did Fiore know too.

That the song had…might have _actually_ …worked. The _can_ …might have _worked_.

On some level, Fiore always knew this was a possibility. On some level, he ‘felt’ it like DeBlanc felt it. But on a much more obvious level, he had had little to no faith in Genesis at all. Considering this level to be rather reasonable, it was the one he stuck to.

He did not expect for DeBlanc to take it so personally.

“He’ll – _it_ – will come. You've seen ‘em do it before – Fiore you _know_ …” DeBlanc had said. They had cleaned up the motel room in bizarre silence – even though neither one of them had too good a handle on what to do. At this point in the day, the corpses were removed, the furniture sat upright again, and the overall resultant rubble was tidied. Besides the giant pools of blood, it looked okay. The smell though was… _unideal_ , to say the least.

Laying on recently remade beds, Fiore and DeBlanc attempted to ignore the growing rot.

“I _don't_. You don't either.” Fiore replied, glaring at the ceiling. They needed Genesis back. When they'd had time, he was willing to humor DeBlanc’s odd endearment toward their miscreant. But this was ridiculous. At the very least, they should talk about it.

“ _Look_ maybe it'll work. But if it doesn't… _DeBlanc_ , we need a plan.” Although Fiore couldn't help but soften his tone upon saying the demon’s name, he still managed to finish firmly… “…we _have_ to talk about the _other_ opt-”

"NO.” DeBlanc hadn’t yelled. But his resoluteness was such that he might have well.

And Fiore did not understand.

_All this to prove something about Genesis? Something to me?_ Why was the nuance of his belief in Genesis so important? Especially at this point, when the _other_ option was _clearly_ the fastest way to get their everything back to normal – _and isn't that what he wanted?_ What they both wanted?

Back in the present, the room was holding its breath.

Fiore settled his gaze on his other, who spent his breathless moment frozen, the can clasped between his hands. Tentatively, the demon broke the stillness and gave the domicile a gentle shake. A low cry of annoyance echoed back, and DeBlanc looked to Fiore.

“ _Huh_ …good!” His voice was bright and jovial, and his surprised grin was more light-hearted than it had been in weeks.

Fiore was less enthused. He pursed his lips and huffed out something silent without conscious effort. Their connection to Genesis was beginning to strain in different directions…developing variance – not in intensity – but in tonality.

DeBlanc’s soul oozed relief and affection. It gathered like blotted ink around Genesis, intent on being as close to the entity as was possible in the physical world.

Fiore’s soul, armed with judgement and logic, saw through the sentimentality so thoroughly preoccupying his other. Any potential superfluous reflexes were firmly stoppered by justified anger. Because Fiore knew better about this.

He knew that it…that _Genesis_...should have known better.

Maybe DeBlanc, who knew little about the standards of acceptable behavior, could be fooled – but not Fiore. Genesis was a being with the capability to destroy all, and make it back up again as something new – and here he was, traversing Earth and exploding humans with no clear goal or purpose? Running away to muck up a frankly already _dreadful_ world – forcing his… _keepers_ to come down and find him? Not to mention all the… _stuff_ Genesis had been exposed to while within the perpetually intoxicated and recklessly unstable preacher that still sat before them. _Him? Really?_

Genesis knew better.

Rage and indignation boiling into words, Fiore took a step toward DeBlanc, and glared pointedly at the domicile containing their delinquent.

“ – Bad. Boy.” He intoned through a tight jaw. It was important to condemn such behaviors swiftly and firmly – otherwise no clear boundaries would be set, and the unwanted habits would continue –

“ _No…_ ” The demon halted the angel’s internal ramblings with a hush, holding Genesis closer to shield him from judgement.

DeBlanc's expression and tone was familiar. Quietly scandalized, his features accused Fiore of overreaction. _Typical_ , thought Fiore.

What was _not_ typical was the pattern of expression that followed – a smile as genuine as it was exclusive to Fiore – spreading widely and slowly across DeBlanc’s face.

Upon meeting his other’s eyes, Fiore’s soul couldn’t help but soften – if only slightly. Although he could not fathom how DeBlanc would defend Genesis’ actions _this_ time, Fiore’s soul was mollified slightly by how genuinely delighted DeBlanc seemed at being given the opportunity to try.

Holding DeBlanc’s gaze for a beat, Fiore silently conceded to shelving the conversation until they were safely home again. He glared once more at the domicile…flaring his nostrils as he made his disapproval as palpable and graspable as possible. If they really weren't going to talk about it in front of the human, Genesis should at least know that _something_ was coming. They couldn't let all the relief his and DeBlanc’s soul exuded be misinterpreted as a _reward_ …

_If such behaviors weren't condemned swiftly and firmly…_ Genesis would never learn, and the undesirable habits would continue.

Noting DeBlanc’s deafening lack of _dis_ approval, Fiore frowned slightly as he turned to deconstruct the music box. Genesis wasn't the only one he'd have to speak to once they were home again.

_Swiftly and firmly, DeBlanc._ _Swiftly and firmly._

Or else he’d never learn.


End file.
